


Tattoo

by mal_badinthelatin



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 15:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 57,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mal_badinthelatin/pseuds/mal_badinthelatin
Summary: This is something I'm working on, and I don't expect to get any hits on this because this is very much first draft status. I need it here to be able to read on my phone. Sorry if you were hoping for more wayhaught!





	Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I'm working on, and I don't expect to get any hits on this because this is very much first draft status. I need it here to be able to read on my phone. Sorry if you were hoping for more wayhaught!

Epigraph

tattoo (ta-too’) [tae‘tu]  
-noun, plural tat*toos. 

1\. a signal on a drum, bugle, or trumpet ordering military to return to quarters

2\. a military display or pageant

3\. a knocking or strong pulsation

4\. a permanent mark or design made on the skin by a process of pricking and ingraining an indelible pigment or by raising scars  
Chapter 1

The sun beats down on the parade deck - a large cement lot for military drills - and the latest Marine Corps basic training class at Parris Island, South Carolina. The soon-to-be Marines stand proud, sweating through their khaki, short sleeved shirts. They have already performed their drill to demonstrate their impressive uniformity and are waiting through the short speech being given by their commanding officer. 

Lexa Amundsen stands at attention in the front and to the right of her platoon - set apart and yet a member - the tall pole of her platoon’s guidon held tightly in her right hand. The guidon, a small flag emblazoned with her platoon’s number, hangs limply without any wind. She refuses to fidget in her new and precisely pressed dress blues. Her curly, light umber hair is pulled back so tightly that not a single whorl escapes at the nape of her neck or on top of her ears. She is thankful that, unlike many of her classmates, she has already spent the money to have each of her uniforms carefully tailored, including her blues. She hadn’t known for certain that she would earn the coveted position of honor graduate - top of her basic training platoon - but she was determined to be prepared. The perfect fit of the heavy uniform makes the length of time in which she must stand stalk still more tolerable. Skin the color of wet sand glistens from the internal heat she’s feeling under her bright white cover. A bead of sweat drips down into her full, gently sloped eyebrow., and it’s only due to her pride and training that She neither wipes it away nor twitches her brow to dislodge it. Over the past twelve weeks she’s had far worse things in her eyes than sweat.

Finally, the speech is over, and she leads her platoon to march in front of the audience. There are far too many graduating to call each name individually. Once they are back at their starting position, each platoon’s honor graduate makes their way to the center to pass off their guidon. Then each is presented an award. Each company’s Marine with the highest physical training and shooting scores receive recognition, as well. Lexa allows herself to smirk a bit, internally, with pride once the officers have continued on to the next Marine. 

She has earned this.

At last, the families of the graduates scramble down out of the bleachers to congratulate their loved ones more personally. Lexa watches as her classmates are scooped up into group hugs with mothers and sisters while fathers and brothers punch arms, rub knuckles against closely shorn heads, and laugh too loudly in order to cover up the frog of pride and worry in their throats. She waits patiently for the single person to whom she’d given a ticket to make her way through the crowd. Her mother isn’t timid, but she is reasonably polite and doesn’t want to interrupt anyone’s celebration. There is plenty of time until the newly minted Marines will have to report back to base only to start as if nothing had changed the next day. However, they will be called Marines from that day forward instead of the dreaded ‘Recruit.’ 

“My sweet girl,” Annika says, her hands cupping Lexa’s cheeks before pulling Lexa into a tight, lengthy hug. “I feel like you went away for twelve weeks and grew up without me.” 

Lexa had managed to keep her composure the entire graduation, only letting herself get choked up when she was sincerely congratulated by her commanding officer, but her mother’s watery eyes make her throat tight. “Maybe I did, but you’ll always be my mom, and I’ll always need you just as much as I always have. You’re the one who taught me to be strong enough to make it through basic.” 

“I’m so proud of you, baby girl.”

Lexa preens under the attention, her back straightening even more. Though the praise from her drill instructors and superior officers was hard won, no one’s opinion would ever matter more than her mother’s did. 

“Thank you, Momma.” 

“You’re going to change the world.” 

Two shot glasses slam down on the table in front of Lexa before she even fully walks up to it, the dull thunk of the heavy glass muted by the live music in the background. The long fingers retreating from the glasses belong to Anya Singh. She is in Lexa’s platoon and had been the only one who really gave Lexa a challenge when it came to earning honor graduate. Anya is a couple of inches taller than Lexa with dark brown, stalk straight hair and just as dark eyes that turn up at the outside points and curl down toward her nose, reminiscent of a graceful and deadly lioness. Her nose is straight and sloped, elongating her lovely face. Anya’s lips are thin but sweetly pink, fitting her narrowing jawline perfectly.  
“You’re lagging behind, Amundsen!” Anya calls over the music. 

Not missing a beat, Lexa throws both shots back in close succession before sitting down in the chair that someone kicks out for her. “You guys starting slow tonight?” she asks, already glancing around the bar to see if there is anyone she might want to take home. Or, rather, that she might want to go home with. She likes having the ability to make a hasty exit at her leisure long before too much cuddling occurs and, most certainly, always before daylight. 

“Already cruising, huh?” 

“Gotta start early if you want to take your pick. Besides, the ones that show up too much later generally reek of desperation and neediness. Last thing I need right now is a stage five clinger. You know I like to sow my wild oats or whatever the hell.” 

“Ah, yes, all the world needs is a thousand little, miniature Amundsens running around and as many baby mommas to go with them.”

“There are benefits to shooting blanks,” Lexa says, wiggling her fingers in front of Anya’s face. 

Anya laughs and slaps Lexa’s hand away. “Weirdo.” 

“It’s really not fair, Amundsen,” Shane Lincoln grouses. His head is nearly bald, but the short, extremely blond stubble catches the light, making it almost glitter. Big blue eyes, pouty lips, and biceps that stretch the sleeves of his t-shirt make him a specimen that men and women alike tend to swoon over. Luckily for them, he likes them all. He towers over everyone else sitting around the table, his knees nearly touching the bottom of it. 

Lexa arches an eyebrow at him before throwing a paper coaster at his head. “You have fingers, too, dumbass.” 

He has the decency to blush as the table erupts into laughter and fist bumps. 

“Stop thinking with your dick for five seconds, meathead,” Anya agrees, slapping him on the back of his head. She uses the sound to cover up the clinking of her challenge coin on the table, grinning like a wolf as she waits for everyone to notice. 

Lexa is next to whip hers out of her pocket and smack it to the table in front of her, not even trying to be subtle about it. There’s a symphony of clacks and bangs as everyone slams theirs down. Shane, still stinging from the teasing, is the last to get his out. “You know what that means. Use those fingers you’ve got to order us another round,” she commands good naturedly as everyone cheers at getting a free drink. 

The night continues on with the new Marines celebrating their graduation with copious amounts of drinking, billiards, and darts. It’s late when Anya walks over to Lexa who has taken up residence between two women at a small table in a darkened corner. One is black and wearing tight, distressed jeans and a tank top, the other is Indian and wearing a very flattering sun dress. “I’m headed back. You good to go?” 

Lexa leans forward a bit, each arm around a woman’s waist. “Oh yeah, I’m good. I’ll make it back before roll call. Get enough sleep for both of us, yeah?” she teases and Anya scoffs. 

“What makes you think I’m getting any sleep?” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder to indicate an attractive Caucasian man looking at her as if he’s won the lottery. 

Leaning back into the booth again, Lexa chuckles and shakes her head. “Then make sure you’re not late. I’ll be damned if we get reamed for not being there. I’ll track your damn phone and drag you back by that pristine hair if I don’t see you by 0400.” 

“Yes, ma’am!” Anya salutes sharply, though she’s still smiling in an entirely un-Marine-like way. “And, before you ask…” She pulls two condoms out of her pocket, holding them up for Lexa to see. 

“I taught you well. Get out of here. See you at the ass crack of dawn.” 

As Anya heads out of the bar with the man who still looks slightly shocked, Lexa turns her attention back to the women sitting on either side of her in the booth. “Shall we, ladies?” she asks, her most charming smile on full display. 

Six years later… 

Lexa Amundsen hunkers down in the trench with four other sweaty bodies, a small pad of dirty paper in one hand, a too-short pencil in the other. There is a full sized pencil shoved up into her helmet in the midst of damp, wispy curls that have escaped from under her helmet, but she refuses to use it until this one is completely devoid of graphite. She is on her fifth deployment, reviewing some intelligence she’d gathered and put together with that which she had been provided. Patting the many pockets in her tactical vest to find her compass, the corners of her lips curl up at the soft crinkling only she could hear. She’d received three letters from Cassidy only the day before - mail isn’t entirely reliable so several letters often came at once - and they were still new enough that the folds weren’t yet more cobwebs than paper. As much as she’d have liked to, she can’t let her thoughts linger on her girlfriend, not when her rifle team is counting on her to point them in the direction that would mean the least likely chance of being hit with an IED or artillery fire. 

“Okay, listen up. There’s a small village, more of a hamlet really, just over that ridge,” she says, her voice quiet but commanding.

“What the fuck’s a hamlet, Sergeant?” 

“Did I ask for commentary, Lincoln?” 

“No, Sergeant.” 

“Then shut the fuck up if you wanna keep your balls intact,” Lexa scolds. “There’s a small settlement,” she emphasizes, “over that ridge. There are parts of some buildings still standing. We can rack down there. Should be abandoned or only occupied with amenable locals. All good?” She makes contact with each Marine in turn, making sure that they have their heads on straight. Intelligence said that the place is abandoned, but that isn’t something that can be absolutely guaranteed. They aren’t moving until she is positive everyone is ready. “Lincoln on point, Wolfe on deck, Carter third, Singh just in front of me. I’ll take up the rear.”

“With all due respect, Sergeant, like hell,” Singh retorts, already moving to position herself behind Lexa. 

Arching one eyebrow, she stares Anya down longer than anyone else on the team could have managed without wilting. “Afraid I didn’t hear you, Corporal,” she comments, “must be because your head is in your ass. Get to your assigned position.” 

Anya reluctantly backs down. She and Lexa were in the same basic training platoon and have managed to stay close throughout their careers thus far, finally ending have finally ended up on the same squad. Her jaw clenches hard enough that her temples swell out for a moment as she as she does a quick, rote check of her weapon and prepares to move out. Without another word, she moves into position. 

“On my mark,” Lexa says, preparing to move quickly and quietly across the scorching desert. 

She gives Lincoln the signal and he nods, rucking quickly in the direction she had instructed. Everyone’s head is on a swivel, their ears straining for even the slightest sound out of place. Lexa makes sure to check behind them as often as possible, trusting her team to guard the front. 

Lincoln and Wolfe are inside the ruins of a building with Carter halfway through the hole in the wall before Singh suddenly whips to her left, her weapon pointed up. “Keep moving!” Lexa hisses, straining to hear whatever had alarmed Anya. As soon as she ducks into the building, the first bullet hits the ground where her foot had just been. The fact that the enemy had waited until they were inside the building to shoot bothers her more than the round that was milliseconds from carving a tunnel through her boot. There’s a cacophony of gunfire that pings off the wall between them and their unseen enemy. It seems to be typical rifle rounds, and they are unlikely to break through the thick concrete wall even as damaged as it is. 

“Hold!” Lexa calls over the cracks of weapon’s fire. There’s no sense in them wasting their ammunition when they were relatively safe and the enemy was hidden. Only then did she notice that the majority of the gunfire was toward either side of the wall they are behind with only a few shots aiming toward the wall itself. 

They aren’t aiming at her team; they are keeping them trapped. 

Lexa’s stomach sinks, and she knows she’s led them into a trap. They have to get out of here if they want to live through the mission. She catches Anya’s eyes and can see that Anya has realized the same thing. “Look at me!” she orders, and the other three Marines snap to, ignoring everything going on around them. “We have to get out of here. Singh and I are going to lay down some cover fire, you three get to a better position to take these fuckers out. Understand?” 

Three voices in unison reply, “Yes, Sergeant!” 

She and Anya get into position on either side of the wall, ready to return fire. “Go!” Lexa commands and lets free a controlled burst of fire, satisfied when she hears a few rounds hit something softer than concrete. Bile shoots up her throat when she hears the gunfire pause and instead, a hole is blown through the wall she and Anya are still behind. It appears that they are tired of playing. 

The artillery fire continues, the wall becoming a Connect Four board. She watches as Wolfe goes to duck behind cover, but his head turns into nothing but red mist. Carter is next with a semi-circular hole through his chest and left arm. They both seem to fall in slow motion, their bodies not shooting backwards with the force like what happens in the movies. They just fall without even the time or ability to scream or pray. 

Next there is an explosion and Lincoln is blown slightly backwards, his right leg missing beneath his thigh. Lexa’s training kicks in, causing all of her feelings to evaporate. She calls for a medical evacuation, letting the people on the other end know that they are pinned down with one casualty and two fatalities.  
“I’ve got to get to Lincoln,” Lexa calls to Anya who is still studiously firing, taking out more than her fair share of insurgents. The artillery fire has slowed, but it hasn’t ceased. 

“I’ve got you, go!” Anya replies, not taking her eyes off of her target area, a body falling over a ledge after Anya fires again. 

Lexa stays as much behind cover as she can, firing in an arc toward the enemy but not really aiming. When she gets to Lincoln, she’s reassured to see him grabbing his leg and groaning. It’s a good sign that he isn’t unconscious. “Hey, look at me, we’re gonna fix you up. CASEVAC is on its way, okay?” she tells him, her voice exuding nothing but confidence as she pulls the tourniquet from his shoulder pocket and slinging it open. “This is going to hurt, but you’re going to suck it up, right Lance Corporal?” she commands, her hands already bloody up to her forearms as she quickly and efficiently moves his thigh to loop the tourniquet around it. She pulls it as tightly as she can, and Lincoln screams into his arm, biting it hard enough that blood seeps through his sleeve. “One more,” she says and wrenches the tourniquet even tighter, making sure that the artery that runs through his muscular thigh is closed off. When she sets the tourniquet, she looks up to see that Lincoln has passed out. She hopes it’s from the pain and not from blood loss, but she’s done all she can for the time being. 

“Report,” she barks at Anya, wiping her hands along her thighs to wipe as much of the sticky blood off as she can so she can hold her weapon properly again. 

“Large artillery has stopped, but I don’t think they’re all down,” Anya says, her eyes still scanning where the attack had come from. 

Lexa nods and points her weapon, looking through her sight along the damaged buildings, searching for any threat. What she finds is a child, a young teenager really, holding a small bag and staggering toward them. 

“Help please! American, help!” he calls in thickly accented, broken English. He is covered in dirt and there is blood coming from the front edge of his dark hair.

“Stay where you are! Do not come any closer,” Lexa shouts, aiming her weapon toward him. She stands slightly, letting him see that she is aiming at him. 

“Please, you help. Family need you,” the boy calls, still approaching at a steady pace even as his feet slap the ground as if he is exhausted. 

Lexa looks at Anya helplessly. Should she shoot this boy because there is a chance that he’s an insurgent, a suicide bomber? Anya stares back, her weapon aimed at him as well, her finger on her trigger, but not yet shooting. 

Lowering her weapon, Lexa holds her hand out, palm facing him. Perhaps he doesn’t understand what she’s saying. “Stop! If you continue forward we will shoot!” she shouts, but still he comes. He seems to be staggering forward more quickly, but he’s not running and he continues to beg for help.  
When he is less than ten yards away, Lexa aims at him again. “I won’t tell you again. Stop!” she calls, her voice almost desperate. She doesn’t want to shoot him, but she has to protect her team - what’s left of it anyway. Still, he doesn’t stop, so she takes a deep breath and lets it out. Her exhale almost sounds like, ‘I’m sorry,’ then she shoots the boy in the chest. 

She doesn’t have time to react. As he falls, an explosion tears through his body, sending shards of metal, nails, ball bearings, and a variety of other objects designed to cause the most damage toward her and Anya. The force blows them back, small fires catching all around them from the blast. Everything hurts and her head is spinning, her ears ringing, and she looks over to where Anya had been. 

Singh is covered in blood, ragged wounds slashing the smooth skin of her face to jagged tears. She is curled into her side, both hands gripping at it, trying to hold everything in place as her insides try to slip out. 

Lexa reaches out, only then realizing that her hand isn’t there. It’s like a dream. It is bleeding, she thinks, but she’s already covered in Lincoln’s blood so it’s difficult to tell. Her head seems to catch up with what’s happening, time zooming forward until she grabs her arm with her left hand. She looks at it in shock, looking around on the ground for it before her training kicks in. She rips her tourniquet from her pocket, fastening it around her arm, biting through the sides of her tongue to keep from passing out from shock and pain. Time is a hyperactive snail, too slow and too fast all at once. 

Pushing up to her knees, Lexa crawls to Wolfe and Carter, jerking their tags off and shoving them into her pocket. If they can’t be retrieved, at least she will give their families their tags. She then moves over to Lincoln who has regained consciousness, but his eyes are glassed over. She grabs his shirt with her intact hand and shakes him. “Don’t quit on me!” she shouts in his face. “You are not allowed to quit, you hear me? That’s an order, Lance Corporal. Marines don’t quit! Sweat dries, blood clots, bones heal. Fuck your leg; you’ve got two. Suck it up!” His eyes seem a little clearer as he nods, pulling his weapon into his lap.  
She thanks every god she can think of when she hears a helicopter nearing, knowing it carries people who can clear the insurgents and, hopefully, save their lives. She moves back over to Singh, placing her bloody hand on Anya’s undamaged cheek. “We got this. We’re going home,” she promises, forcing confidence into her voice. 

If the three of them make it home, it will be a goddamned miracle. 

Chapter 2

The air is stale and antiseptic, as if the large window that takes up most of the wall has never been opened. It is quiet, but not silent. There is An underlying buzz of activity that hums beneath the stillness, just enough to drive one crazy - the sounds are just on the edge between hearing and understanding. Lexa feels her entire face scrunch up in pain as consciousness slowly then suddenly sets in. 

Everything hurts. 

She is pretty sure even her hair and fingernails ache. Taking a few deep breaths, she tries to remember what happened and where she is now.  
She remembers the desert and trying to lead her team to safety. The incident flashes behind her closed eyelids. 

Lincoln stepping on IED, leg just gone.

Artillery fire. 

Wolfe falling, headless. 

Carter slumping to the side, one arm and half his chest missing. 

Singh holding her guts in with her hands and bleeding into the sand. 

Her hand… 

Forcing her eyes open, she clenches her teeth to keep from slamming them shut again from the scorchingly bright lights. Her leg is strapped to some sort of contraption that is peacefully bending and straightening her knee with a soft almost-squeak. Her arm is suspended in an intricate sling to keep it elevated. It’s shorter than it should be and is completely obscured by bandages. There are thin tubes snaking out from between the bandages with squished, tennis ball sized bulbs attached to the dangling ends. They are filled to varying degrees with pinkish-orangeish-yellowish fluid. 

Her hand feels like it is on fire. 

Her other arm is free, and she finds the call button, pressing it once. She wants to scream, to beg to be put under again, to punch the button to the point of insanity. Instead, she waits for someone to answer her. She’s surprised when a red cheeked nurse pops through the door. 

“You just had to wake up while I was filing paperwork, didn’t you, Sergeant?” she says with a pleasant smile. 

Before Lexa can respond, the nurse - Navy, Captain, name plate reads Janeway - continues. “I’m sure you have questions, and I’ll be glad to answer them, but let me go first, okay?” 

Lexa jerks her chin down once. 

“Are you in pain?” 

Lexa nods again, clenching her teeth hard enough that she hears them creak. 

“One to ten, ten being the worst pain you’ve felt in your life, the worst pain you can imagine.” 

She wants to answer twelve but then pictures Anya literally holding her intestines in her body cavity. That would be worse. “Nine.” 

“Good imagination, I see. Let’s get that to somewhere around a five, at least.” She injects something into Lexa’s IV line. 

Her arm and chest crawl as the cold drug floods her veins, and the scent of nonexistent rubbing alcohol tickles the inside of her nose as her face begins to numb. She feels Her eyebrows and forehead loosen, and she instinctively takes a deep breath. 

“Better?” 

“Except my hand. Feels like I’m hand fishing in lava.” 

“One thing at a time.” 

Lexa nods a bit sloppily. With the rest of the pain receding, the pain in her absent hand is more manageable. 

“Hungry? Thirsty?” 

The thought of food, especially military hospital food, makes Lexa’s turn, but her mouth, lips, and throat are cracked and dry. “Thirsty.” 

The nurse smiles like she was just handed a gift. “That’s excellent. Let’s start with ice chips while we wait for something from the kitchen,” she says, pouring some in a cup and placing it on the tray at the left side of the bed. “Anything in particular you feel like you can hold down?” 

Lexa eyes the cup warily. She hates throwing up. She hates throwing up more than going through the gas chamber in recruit training. Her instincts overpower her, however, and she finds herself tipping the cup to her lips, the small pieces of ice melting like snowflakes on her lips and tongue. 

“Any other physical needs right now?” At the shake of Lexa’s head, she goes on. “All right. As I’m sure you have figured out, I’m Captain Janeway.” Lexa’s eyebrows rise. “Yes, that’s my real name and rank,” she deadpans but doesn’t seem angry. 

Lexa doesn’t react further. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“You’re at Walter Reed Memorial Hospital in Baltimore Maryland. You’ve had a right, transradial amputation - between the wrist and elbow - I’m sure you’ve figured that part out. You also had a dislocated knee and various shrapnel injuries, some of which required sutures. Your cranial CT shows no sign of trauma, and there is no indication of internal injuries. I’ll give you some information on all of that later, so don’t worry if you don’t remember everything. Do you remember what happened?” 

Taking in the rapid-fire information, Lexa nods then shrugs. “What about Singh and Lincoln? Corporal Anya Singh and Lance Corporal Shane Lincoln. They are on my team.” Her tone is somewhere between a plea and a demand. Even Though her voice is steady, the even beeping of her heart sounding on the monitor speeds up in fear. 

Captain Janeway shakes her head apologetically. “I don’t have any Marines by those names, but I’ll see what I can find out for you,” she promises. “Do you remember what happened?” she repeats, attempting to keep Lexa focused. 

Lexa nods, feeling her cheeks darken. “I had bad intell. Led us into a trap. Got two killed, three injured. One hundred percent casualty. Is there a medal for that?” she asks bitterly. 

Janeway, to her credit, doesn’t bite. “You were trapped; how did it happen?” 

“Small village, if it can be called that. Should have been clear. Make it to cover, get pinned down by rifle fire. Lincoln steps on IED. Singh and I try to stabilize. Pull tourniquet as tight as I could. My arms are covered in his blood. They switch to artillery. Wolfe takes direct hit. Body crumples, head red mist. Carter takes shoulder shot, takes his arm and chest with it. Happens so fast. Singh… shrapnel shreds her. Anya is holding her fucking guts in her side. Can’t help. Hand is gone. Is that my blood or Lincoln’s? Tourniquet, Lexa, don’t die here. MEDEVAC coming. Have to get us to safe pick up point. Trying to drag Wolfe and Carter, harder than I thought with one hand. Secure Singh and Lincoln. MEDEVAC arrives.” 

Lexa blinks and swallows back bile. Her voice is flat and lifeless. “I don’t remember much after that.” 

“That explains your knee. Do you hurt anywhere else?” 

A sharp bark of laughter and a hastily cleared throat is the immediate answer. After a moment, Lexa adds, “Ma’am, everything hurts.” 

“I believe that, Sergeant. Is it better than before?” 

Lexa nods. “We’re at a solid six,” she answers.” 

“If you’re okay with that, we can leave it there. You do have a morphine drip. You can hit that button.” She points explains, pointing to a small handle that would fit easily into the palm of a person’s hand with a red button on top. It reminds Lexa of the buzzers she had used during her years on her junior high and high school academic teams. “It will put a small boost into your IV if you need a bit extra. It won’t let you overdose, so hit it as much as you like. A small beep will sound if it’s too soon for another dose. If you’re still in too much pain, let us know, and we might be able to supplement it with something else.”

“It’s a lot better than it was. I’m not going to complain.” 

“I need you to complain,” Janeway insists. “I don’t care if you feel like you need to be in pain for some misplaced sense of guilt; I’ve seen it before. You need to tell me if you’re hurting. You can punish yourself later, but I need you to heal whether you want to or not.” 

Lexa stiffens, her eyes narrowing. “I am a Marine, ma’am. I will not quit.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Janeway says with a smile. “Is there anyone you would like to contact? You can call anyone stateside, and if you need to call internationally I can get you a code.” 

It takes Lexa a few moments to breathe through the bands constricting her chest. “I should contact my CO.” 

Janeway doesn’t say anything, but Lexa can practically hear the wheels in her head connecting what Lexa isn’t saying. “Your CO should be in the loop. You’re welcome to call them, though.” 

“I need to contact my team’s families,” she adds, pushing against the mattress sit up straighter. 

“That is already taken care of. You know that,” Janeway says, not unkindly. 

“I still need to contact them.” 

“The notification team will have taken care of that, Sergeant.” 

“That doesn’t change that I need to take responsibility for it.” 

“You know that’s not the way it works.” 

“That’s bullshit. It was my fault, I need to let them know. They deserve to know what happened. They can’t hear it from the unit.” 

Janeway steps up to the bed and places her hand on Lexa’s shoulder. “I might be the first person to tell you this, but I’m not going to be the last.” She pauses, waiting for Lexa to look up. “What happened is not your fault. No one is perfect. We can’t control the world or what other people do. You did the very best with the information you were given and more than anyone could have asked of you in the situation in which you found yourself.” 

“But-“

“Did you purposely lead your team into danger?” 

Lexa looks scandalized and more than a little offended. “No!” 

“Did you decide it might be fun to see how it felt for your team to be hit with a .50 cal?”

Lexa sets her jaw and jerks her head once to the right, left, and back to center. 

“Did you have some sort of unspoken hatred for your right hand?” 

A sigh and slightly slumped shoulders is her only answer. 

“Then tell me, Alexandria, how is this your fault?”

She knows it’s a ploy. She’s never been called her legal first name except by those in doctor’s offices, people conducting formal Marine ceremonies, or on telemarketer calls. It shouldn’t have the desired effect – it’s not even really her name – it shouldn’t make her lower her guard. 

It does. 

If anyone asks, she’ll blame it on the morphine in her veins and the pain coursing through her despite the intensely addictive medication. “They are my responsibility,” she finally replies, amending her previous words. 

“We all have responsibilities. Don’t mistake them for what’s within your ability to control.” 

Lexa feels the tears welling up in her eyes, her vision swimming slightly from it. She shakes her head only to nod it in turn. There is too much happening, too much to take in, too much to handle alone. As much as she doesn’t want to burden her girlfriend of just over a year, she can’t help but ache for her and wish she was at her bedside. “Everyone has been notified, Captain?” she asks, blatantly ignoring how her voice shakes. It occurs to her that she has no idea how long it’s been since the incident. 

“Yes, Sergeant,” Janeway replies, removing her hand from Lexa’s shoulder and allowing the military formality to slide seamlessly between them once more. “Individual contacts have been made as well as the entire unit notification.” 

“How long have I been here?” 

Janeway picks up Lexa’s chart, not wanting to give incorrect information. “Nearly forty-eight hours since you touched down here. You’ve only been on my ward for thirty-six.” 

She nods again, mentally calculating the time it might take for Cassidy to travel to Baltimore. It’s hard to guess without a map. Looking around, she notices the date written on a white board hanging on the wall near her bed. 

Four days. It’s only been four days since she was in the desert. Four days since her life changed. Four days since she lost half her team. No, she forces herself to correct her thinking. They aren’t lost; they’re dead. They’re dead, and you’ll never shoot again. 

Lexa lets her head fall back against the pillows with a soft, feather impeded thunk, and looks up at the ceiling for several seconds. She stares up through her lashes until she is sure the feeling of loss isn’t going to overwhelm her. “Will you, please, check on Singh and Lincoln? I really need to know if they made it. And Wolfe and Carter? I need to know if they made it home.” If her voice cracks on the final word, neither of them acknowledge it. 

“Of course. I’ll notify you immediately once I learn something,” Janeway assures. “Is there anything else I can do for you right now?” She waits with patience borne of long days and longer hours talking to patients and families about things of such pressure that lesser persons might crack under. 

“No. Thank you.” 

“I’m just at the other end of that line if you need anything,” she says, indicating the call button embedded in Lexa’s bed railing. “Anything,” she emphasizes. “Talk, play cards, bullshit, change the TV channel, anything – you press the button, okay?” 

At Lexa’s nod, she walks out of the sterile, generically decorated room, leaving Lexa alone once more. 

The next time Lexa is aware of her surroundings, it’s because her stomach is complaining. Loudly. It sounds more like a cartoon rendition of the sound than what the human body should actually be able to produce. Even though the thought of military hospital food still doesn’t sound terribly appealing, she knows her body demands it. Of course, she’s eaten far worse in the field and during survival training than anything they could come up with in the kitchens. Her arm is still elevated, and the little bulbs hanging are a lot fuller than they had been. Her leg is still strapped to the machine that rhythmically bends and straightens her knee.

The fingers of her left hand spider along the inside of the bed railing, searching blindly for the call button. Before Lexa can think too much about her hunger, Captain Janeway is in her room again. 

Janeway rotely checks of Lexa’s vitals, jotting down the numbers on the chart she had grabbed from the corner of the nurses’ desk. “What can I do for you, Sergeant?” she asks once she doesn’t need to after listening to Lexa’s heart and lungs. 

“I’m hungry.” 

“That’s an excellent sign. Does anything sound good?” 

“A disgustingly greasy bacon burger and onion rings,” Lexa answers, her mouth watering at the image. 

Captain Janeway smiles. “It’s been a few days since you’ve eaten, and you’ve been pumped full of meds. Would it be okay if we started out with something a bit easier on your stomach?” 

Lexa resists the urge to pout. “Can I at least have the bacon and onion rings?” 

Janeway laughs. “Hey, it’s your guts. I’ll put the order in for that and some chicken broth, okay?” 

Nodding, Lexa smiles. “I might even try to eat the broth since you’re being so nice about it.” 

Janeway gives a thumbs up. “I can live with that. I brought you the ‘here’s how you got fucked up’ packet I promised you. There’s also information on myths surrounding long-term morphine usage. I’m sure you’re eager to read all that.” She gives Lexa a smirk and almost rolls her eyes. “Also, now that you’re awake and still lucid…” She trails off and pushes the door open from where it had just barely been cracked. 

Lexa’s breath catches, and her heart skips. “Cassidy,” she breathes, trying to push herself to sit more upright in bed. Her eyes are locked on the petite redheaded woman in the doorway holding a ridiculously sized stuffed chipmunk that is almost as big as the slight woman. Lexa doesn’t even notice the nurse slinking out of the room to give them privacy.

“Hey, beautiful,” Cassidy says, her voice soft and tremulous. She seems to be stuck in place, shifting from one foot to the other as if her shoes were being suctioned from beneath, unable to take a single step. 

Lexa knows that she is in no way looking her best even though she’s not had a mirror. “I won’t bite, Chipmunk.” She reaches her hand out, encouraging Cassidy to come closer. She can already feel everything she’s been holding back start to well in her eyes. With her girlfriend there to make sure she doesn’t shatter, maybe she can afford to fall apart. 

Cassidy takes a deep breath and unsticks her feet from the industrial tile, habitually making her way toward Lexa’s right side. The moment she realizes her faux pas is evident in the deep blush that darkens her pale cheeks. She quickly corrects, scampering to the other side of the bed, tucking the gigantic plush animal beneath one arm as the other reaches out to touch Lexa’s shoulder. It shakes, hesitating in connecting with Lexa as if she is somehow electrified.  
Lexa, conversely, eagerly grabs Cassidy by the hip to pull her close to the bed, stretching upward to silently ask for a kiss. At the very least, she expects a hug, and Cassidy’s reluctance turns over and over in her guts, black and icy, snowballing beyond her control. The strain on her back and abdomen is too much, and she slumps slightly back against the bed, a muscle tensing above each eyebrow. “Babe, it’s me. I’m okay,” she says softly, gently tugging at Cassidy’s waist. “I promise, it’s not as bad as it looks,” she assures despite having no idea exactly how it looks as she can only see parts of herself at a time. 

“I… Lexa… You’re not okay,” Cassidy replies, shaking her head and pressing the fingertips of one hand against her lips as her eyes flit from injury to injury. 

“Come on, Cassidy, you know it looks worse than it is. I wouldn’t be here talking to you if it was all that bad, would I?” She tries to gently joke, hoping to snap her girlfriend out of her fear induced trance. “Lots of Marine wives go through this, honey. There are support groups and everything. But it’s our job.” 

“I am not your wife, and it is not your job to lose half your goddamn arm in some fucking desert!” 

Lexa flinches, pressing back against the pillows behind her as if bracing for a blow. In all truth, a broken nose would have hurt less. She is stunned. True, they have only been together a little over a year, but they had teasingly called each other wife for months even before Lexa got her orders for her most recent deployment. “Cass, please,” she begs, holding her hand out to Cassidy again. Just a touch, just fingers to fingers, skin to skin, and this will all go away. She needs the connection, and Cassidy knows it. 

Cassidy shakes her head once, places the giant chipmunk gently on the chair beside the bed bed, and takes a step backward. “I can’t do this. I know I said I understood, but I didn’t. I can’t watch you get taken apart piece by piece only to die out in the middle of fucking nowhere. I didn’t know what it meant, not what it truly meant. I can’t cry over your flag covered coffin. I can’t live with nothing but your tags beside me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you, but I just can’t.”  
She doesn’t wait for a response, and she claps one hand hard over her mouth to prevent any further sound from escaping. Her previously sticky shoes seem to glide smoothly across the floor as she leaves the room, never looking back even as she pulls the door shut in complete silence. 

It may be a few minutes or a few hours before an orderly brings Lexa her tray with a gentle smile, placing it on the table that can slide across her lap. She stares at the textured black dome containing what she requested. She can feel that her cheeks and neck and stupid thin gown are drenched in tears even as she slides her jaw from side to side. With each scrape and clench of her teeth, the black ball inside her guts gets hotter and hotter, and she stares at the inoffensive tray. Her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare until she can’t stand the sight of it for another second and flings the entire thing against the wall. 

She doesn’t care if she ever eats again. 

Chapter 3

A year later… 

A quiet, chirping sound cut through the air, making the woman lying in the bed jump despite its gentle tones, her eyes popping open in immediate wakefulness. Rolling over, she flung her arm out to shut the alarm off. The sound continued, though, as she missed the snooze button. She sighed. It was like that every morning. In the moments between sleeping and waking, she forgot that her arm was ten inches shorter than it had been the majority of her adult life. Pushing herself up with her left hand, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She reached out with her intact hand and flipped the small switch to turn the alarm completely off. Standing from her bed, she pulled her wild, curly, brown hair back from her face, awkwardly affixing it with one of the hair ties she kept around her left wrist. 

Before she set foot out of her bedroom, she lowered herself to the floor, her right arm braced on a small, firm rubber ball, her left hand splayed out on the floor. Her toes were pressed into the cold floor behind her, and she breathed out in controlled, consistent exhalations as she bent her elbows to lower her nose to the floor and pressed back up until her elbows were completely straight. She completed a minimum of forty perfect push ups before centering her hand beneath her and adjusting the position of her feet to complete ten more using only her left arm. She then centered herself over the ball and completed ten more. It had taken months to be able to master one armed push ups with her right arm after her last tour, but she had. 

“Move your ass, Amundsen,” the woman mumbled to herself, heading to her shower before the sun had broken the horizon. 

Within the hour, she had showered, dried her hair, and was holding a bowl of cereal against her chest with her elbow, a spoon mechanically moving from the bowl to her mouth. She was wearing a loose USMC tank top and baggy, mesh shorts, standing at her kitchen sink as she looked out at the rising sun. Once finished, she rinsed the bowl and dropped it and the spoon in the dishwasher before grabbing her gym bag and slinging it across her chest as she headed for the door.

Just as she had for every day for a little over a year, Lexa drove herself to the Military Advanced Training Center at the Walter Reed National Medical Military Center. When she walked in the large, open room that was filled with various types of work out machines, free weights, resistance bands, and therapy stations, the only other person in there gave her a smile. 

“It’s about time you showed up, Sergeant,” the slender brunette called. She stretched her arms across her chest and leaning back and forth between her feet. One long, tan leg stretched toward the floor, the other was a high tech looking thing, complete with a thigh that had a seamless biomechanical design with gears and wires and metallic parts that looked so real it had forced Lexa to do a double take the first time she’d seen it. From there extended a knee and lower leg that Cat had helped design and implement, and it was unique to her for the time being. The foot of her prosthetic disappeared into her fluorescent pink and green running shoe. 

“Suck it, ma’am,” Lexa replied to her occupational therapist with a smile, tossing her bag on one of the platforms as she sat down, opening her bag to pull one of her prosthetics out. 

“How many times to I have to tell you, it’s Cat, or Miss Torres if you’re nasty,” Cat said as she walked over to Lexa and held her hands out. 

“Then suck it, Miss Torres,” Lexa amended, holding her right arm out for Cat to inspect. 

“Maybe after our session,” Cat retorted with a wink. Her expression was all business, though, as she evaluated Lexa’s arm. “Scarring looks awesome. Muscle density is good. Are you still having muscle cramps here?” she asked, running one of her fingers along the back of Lexa’s residual limb. 

“Not as much. The mirror thing has helped even though I feel like a dumbass when I do it,” Lexa answered. “I still forget when I wake up, though,” she added more quietly. 

Cat chuckled softly with a knowing grin. “I feel that. You should have seen me when some dumbass pulled the fire alarm the other week. It wasn’t pretty. How are your sockets feeling?” she asked, changing the subject back to the task at hand. 

“They’re both pretty good. I feel like it has stopped changing shape so much, and I’ve been able to gain back as much muscle mass as I think is really possible.” 

“It’s actually pretty impressive how much you’ve retained. I’ve seen people with longer limbs that have less mass even though they’ve got more to work with. How is it actually feeling?” Cat asked, poking along the scar line one more time before releasing her arm. 

“Not bad, honestly. I’m ready to try to qualify again. I don’t have the permanent mods to my weapon yet, but I feel like my arms are almost where they need to be.” 

“You still want to qual right handed?” Cat asked, picking up Lexa’s body powered prosthetic. “It might be hard to use this and still keep your aim solid.” 

“That’s what I was thinking I’d do, but I don’t know. Every time I try, I pull left.”

“Makes sense. It’s basically fucking impossible not to move your arm at least a little bit to open your hook. Have you tried lefty?” 

Lexa sighed and shrugged one shoulder. “A little bit, but it’s just fucking weird. I know it makes more sense to do it that way, but it’s frustrating to basically start from boot. I can’t even wear my marksmanship badge. It’s embarrassing as hell. I’m surprised they haven’t kicked my ass out yet.” 

“Come on, you know how it goes. If you want to stay in, we’ll find a way to keep you in. Besides, being 0211 they will do whatever it takes. You’re too good at your job, Lexa,” Cat said sincerely. 

Lexa arched one eyebrow at Cat, her eyes locking on Cat’s before meaningfully looking at her right arm and back again. 

“Don’t give me that shit,” Cat said firmly. “Your info saved lives, a lot of lives, including your own broody ass.” 

Lexa’s green eyes met Cat’s dark brown again for several moments, and she finally gave a slight, terse jerk of her chin. 

Understanding the topic was closed, Cat put down Lexa’s body powered prosthetic and picked up her myoelectric one. “Let’s get started, shall we?” she suggested. Lexa agreed, donning the robotic arm that Cat passed her before heading to the treadmill. 

Three hours and at least a gallon of sweat later, the therapy center was much busier, and there were warriors at nearly every available piece of equipment and therapy station. Some people were even gathered in small groups, chatting as they waited for their turns. Cat was working with one of the new guys. Black, spidery stitches were still obvious along the edge of his residual limb and bandages peppered his visible skin. Instead of interrupting them, Lexa just held her hand up in a short wave. 

“Try to do something fun, Amundsen!” Cat called after her, returning her half-assed wave. 

Lexa shook her head but smiled as she made her way out of the building.

Lexa sits at a small picnic table on the edge of the large park, watching children run and play, yelling at each other in impromptu games as they scramble across the playground equipment. She’s been here for the better part of an hour but is in no rush to leave. She takes off her sunglasses and wipes the dust from them on the bottom of her baggy tank top before sliding them back up her nose. 

“You keep sitting there like that, someone’s going to think you’re a creeper.” 

Lexa looks up and shakes her head at the woman she sees approaching. “You’re the one that thought it; what does that say about you?” she retorts, standing up to wrap her arms tightly around the woman as she sets a bag of food on the table. “It’s good to see you, Anya,” she says softly, releasing Anya from the hug. She curls her left hand around Anya’s elbow, looking her up and down. “You look great,” she says honestly. 

“Thanks to you,” Anya replies, patting Lexa on her right shoulder. “I brought lunch,” she says, nodding to the paper bag. 

“Please tell me you didn’t try to cook.” 

“Oh hell no, the last thing either of us need is to get food poisoning from a pb and j,” Anya answers with an arch of her manicured eyebrow. Despite the three slim, fading scars slashing across the right side of her face, she is gorgeous. Her rich, dark brown eyes turn slightly down on either side of her nose and pay homage to her Nepali father. 

“If anyone could manage it, it’d be you,” Lexa agrees, sitting back down on the bench as Anya takes a seat in front of her. 

“Tell me about it. I barely trust myself with ramen. Aama is so ashamed,” Anya says with a slight grin. She dumps the contents of the bag, sliding one submarine sandwich across to Lexa and taking one for herself. “I hope turkey’s okay.” 

“Corporal Singh, we’re Marines. We’ll eat anything,” Lexa dead pans. 

“Oo-rah!” Anya replies, her voice deep and bold. “And it’s Sergeant now.” 

Lexa laughs and echoes the sentiment, carefully holding the sandwich with her prosthetic hand and tearing the wrapper off with the other. “I didn’t realize it had gone through! Congrats, you definitely deserve it. I should have bought you lunch. Thanks for meeting with me, though. I know you’re busy all the time.” 

“Never too busy for you, Amundsen,” Anya replies honestly, tearing into her sandwich as well. “You saved our asses out there. We were lucky to have you with us.” 

“Yeah, well, tell that to Wolfe and Carter.” 

“No one’s perfect, Lexa, not even you. It would have been a total loss without you there, and you damn well know it.” 

As much as Lexa’s ears burn at the acknowledgment, she can’t directly deny it. “How’s everything going?” 

Anya shrugs one shoulder as she chews. “Pretty good. Everything’s healed up. I’ve got some nice, gnarly scars, though,” she says as she lifts up the right side of her shirt, showing a long, jagged scar that goes from beneath her bra strap on her back and around the front to dip under her waistband near her belly button. “That’s my shark attack one,” she says with a wry grin. 

“Nice. Glad they got your guts back where they belong. You’ve always had more than your fair share anyway,” Lexa says with an arched eyebrow. 

“It’s not my fault the guys are a bunch of scrotums,” Anya says with a cocky look. 

“Oo-rah to that,” Lexa says, holding up her sandwich in a sort of toast. “Seriously though, you back on duty or what?” 

“Limited duty, but yeah. The grafts on my calf are still being dicks. They aren’t terrible, but they’re still super tight so I don’t have full range of motion.”  
“You’re going back for active duty, right?” 

“Fuck yes. What else am I going to do with my life? I’m a grunt through and through.” 

“You could do anything you want, Anya,” Lexa counters. 

“Yeah, I guess so, but I love it. I’m in until they tell me to retire.” 

“I understand that. I’m still hitting the range trying to figure out how to fire with my hook.” 

“That sucks. You’ll get it, though. You were always one of the best shots. Have you tried going lefty?”

“Ugh, Cat asked me the same thing. Why do you two always seem to agree on everything?” Lexa grouses. 

“We’re both hot, smart badasses. You should learn to listen to us,” Anya says cockily. 

“You two just need to fuck it out,” Lexa complains.

“What makes you think we haven’t?” Anya says with a wicked smirk. 

“Oh my god, I did not need that visual.”

“Come on, you know you wanna watch.” 

“You’re like my fucking sister.” 

“Well, if I’m your fucking sister, then it definitely makes sense that you’d want to watch.” 

“Oh my god, I’m leaving,” Lexa says, rolling her eyes almost painfully as she stands halfway up. 

“Sit your ass down, Amundsen,” Anya says, kicking Lexa’s shin beneath the table, laughing at Lexa’s narrowed eyes. 

“Rude. Don’t you know you’re supposed to be kind to cripples?”

“You’re about as crippled as a triathlete.” 

“Talk to the hand,” Lexa says as she holds up her prosthetic. 

“Oh my god, did you get your brain pan scrambled, too? Please tell me you’re not stuck in the 90s.” 

“Why do I put up with you again?” 

“Because I’m awesome.” 

Lexa laughs softly and shakes her head. No matter how much they bicker, it is always in good fun. The truth is, they’d had each other’s backs since boot camp. They’d been on every tour together, and even when Lexa made the lateral move to counter intelligence, she’d managed to stay in the same company. “Have you talked to Warrant Officer King or Corporal Lincoln? I haven’t talked to her in a month or so.” 

“Warrant Officer King is doing great. Full time active duty, no worse for wear. From what I hear she’s just got some scars to show for it, but nothing major. She’s hard as fuck to kill. I’m pretty sure she could step on a land mine and she’d just glare at it until it gave up and fizzled out. Lincoln is doing really well, too. I’m surprised you haven’t seen him around the MATC. He’s supposed to be getting one of those knees that Torres designed. He said it’s supposed to predict his stride or some shit. She’s too fucking smart for the rest of us. God only knows why she’s not in weapons design.” 

“I’ll have to ask her when he comes in. I’m always in at the ass crack of dawn, so maybe he comes in a little later. We should all have drinks or something soon.” 

At the suggestion, Anya gets a wicked glint in her eye and slides her hand into her pocket, dropping a challenge coin on the table. 

“Son of a bitch,” Lexa grumbles. “You know I’m in my PT gear,” she complains but sticks out her prosthetic hand to shake Anya’s fully flesh one. “I’ll get the first round.” 

“Damn right you will. You can put a coin in your bra or some shit, there’s no excuse, Sergeant,” Anya says gleefully. 

“You’re way too pleased with yourself right now,” Lexa complains good naturedly. 

“What can I say, free drinks always put me in an awesome mood.” 

“It’s a good thing I like you.” 

“You love me, don’t try to deny it.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You know you’re my favorite Asian.” 

“Even out of all the different types of Asian?” Anya asks, feigning shock. 

“Don’t push it. I could downgrade you to my favorite Nepali in a heartbeat.” 

“Do you even know any other Nepali?” 

“That’s beside the point.” 

Anya laughs and throws a rogue piece of lettuce at Lexa.

Lexa sat at her table, the mirror set up perpendicularly to her body, arms extended on either side of it. She leaned slightly to the left, making sure she couldn't see her right arm where it disappeared behind the mirror. Instead, the mirror made it appear that she had two, fully intact arms. She wiggled her left arm, attempting to mimic the actions with her right, then moved her hand up and down, side to side, and twisted her wrist back and forth. It had taken a while for her to get used to the feeling and technique, not to mention the feeling of foolishness while doing it, but once she'd gotten over her own hang ups about it, the mirror therapy had actually helped.

She never expected to deal with phantom limb pain. She had always thought that if she lost a limb, that would just be that, no use in crying over spilled milk and all that. Unfortunately, experience cared very little for expectation, and once she'd started to heal up a bit, and the most severe of her injury pain began to subside, she'd begun feeling tingles in her fingers, itching on the back of her hand, and muscle cramps. Lexa didn't mention it for several weeks, though, until Cat had caught her rubbing her arm along her thigh in an effort to relieve the sensations. She'd been extremely embarrassed, viewing it as some sort of failure on her side. She was a Marine. She should be able to accept, adapt, and move past whatever was thrown at her.

It took a bit of convincing on Cat's part to get Lexa to even think about using the mirror therapy, especially since the results were more cumulative than immediate. The first time she felt the muscles in her arm release from their tight clenching, though, she almost cried. It had definitely made a believer out of her. So, even though she still felt a bit foolish watching herself move her hand and arm in a mirror, she consistently did it anyway.  
After she finished her exercises, she put the mirror away and looked at her residual limb. She turned it over and bent it toward her face, looking at it from every angle she could. Lifting her left hand, she cupped the blunted end in her palm, her fingers and thumb stretching up toward her elbow. Her eyes were drawn up toward the tattoo on her bicep, and her fingertips moved up to trace some of the lines. Out of everything that had happened, she was extremely grateful that that specific tattoo hadn’t taken any damage. It was honestly surprising for all the rest of the damage that had been inflicted on the squad.  
Lexa lifted her fingertips to her lips and pressed a soft kiss to them, then touched her fingers back against the top section of the tattoo. It was certainly nothing she’d ever let anyone else see; she knew it was a silly ritual she had. It didn’t stop her from doing it, though, and it didn’t stop her from feeling sentimental when she did. The thought seemed to stick with her a bit longer than it usually did, and an idea started to form. She poked her arm, manipulating the scars and the sensitive skin there, digging in a bit to press against the ends of her radius and ulna. 

Maybe part of the problem she’d been having was that she hadn’t really embraced her arm as it was. She had accepted the injury and had even adapted to her knew life without it, but it still felt foreign to her. Something was missing, and it was more than what was tangible. 

Lexa looked around her apartment, searching for something that she didn’t quite realize yet. When her eyes fell on the oversized mug she used to store her pens, pencils, and markers, she smiled. She walked over to it and pulled out a black marker and uncapped it, holding it in her left hand. She still wasn’t great with her penmanship, but even right handed it had been somewhat messy. 

Bending her elbow, she looked down at the scarred surface, moving her shoulder to bring it a bit closer to her face. It was actually pretty impressive how neatly the scars had healed. They were smooth and tidy, not jagged and puffed up like she had seen on others. Her mother always said that they had great skin. Starting from what she estimated was the center of her arm, she began doodling. A shaky circle marked the middle, and little petal like designs radiated out from it. She filled in some of the space between the petals with spirals, stars, and squiggly lines, a smile stretching her lips without her realizing it.  
Lexa lost herself in the calming action, extending the abstract design up over her arm as best as she could, even drawing around her elbow by feel since she didn’t have a mirror handy and had no inclination to actually get up to remedy that. When she reached the border of the tattoo on her bicep, she paused, using her fingertip to trace across those lines after recapping the marker. She held her arm out, turning it back and forth as much as possible to see how her scribbles looked. 

For the first time in over a year, when Lexa looked at her arm, she smiled. 

Perhaps some sort of ceremony to incorporate the appendage into her life as it was now was in order. Not that she’d ever tell any of her friends about the intention to do such a thing, but something deep in her abdomen felt like it was right. 

Now for the harder part — finding a tattoo artist who would be willing to both do the tattoo itself and who was talented enough that it could be done in a way she’d be proud of. Thankfully, the internet was laden with tattoo shops and artists boasting portfolios she could browse without having to leave her living room. 

After almost two hours of searching, she found a small, amateur made website for a tattoo shop only about ten miles from where she lived. Though there weren’t any fancy bells and whistles on the site itself, it was the content she was much more concerned with. She clicked through several of the candid pictures of people showing off their newly inked skin, and her eyes kept being drawn to the artwork of one of the artists whose name was Skye. There was a group photo of all the employees on the home page, but it was impossible to identify who was who. 

Scrolling through the employee link, she found Skye’s portfolio. She thought it was strange that she had to agree to being over eighteen and viewing nudity before it allowed her to see any of the pictures, but when she clicked into the link she could see why. In the page of thumbnails, there were more breasts than any other body part. Some of them simply looked like naked boobs, and some of them had beautifully designed and executed patterns. Her eyebrows squeezed together in confusion, but she decided to take a look at Skye’s mini bio before taking a closer look at the photographs. 

Lexa’s eyebrows spread back into their normal positions before sliding up her forehead in surprise. It seemed that a large percentage of Skye’s clientele were breast cancer survivors. One of the major things she did with her practice was nipple and areola coloring after mastectomies and breast reconstructions. With that explanation, she couldn’t help but take a look at what she had perceived as just naked breasts. She had seen more than her fair share of breasts in her time, and the coloring of the tattoos were so well done and had such depth, Lexa wasn’t sure she’d have been able to tell the difference even close up. Perhaps if she was merely inches away, but the accuracy and delicacy with which the tattoos were done was extremely impressive. There were even little flaws and discolorations that were found in natural nipples. 

What impressed her even more was when she looked at the before pictures. Some had scars that were jagged and dark, puckering the healthy skin around them and drawing the eye to them and away from the lovely curve of the breast they were obscuring. Some of them just looked like flat skin with a small, strange bump in the center - a poor representation of what a nipple could be. Lexa wondered how little the surgeons cared about the aesthetics of their patients after they healed, but it was obvious that keeping the cancer from ravishing their bodies was the priority. She couldn’t really argue with that, it just made her sad to think how those women must have felt. In a way, she could certainly relate. She knew it was a different injury, obviously, but to have something that was so intimately and instinctively a part of your body and life to be ripped away, in her case quite literally, and to have it replaced with a scarred, jumbled mess that could barely be recognized as a ghost of what had been before, it was something she was intimately familiar with. 

Lexa looked at every single picture under Skye’s information, the awe of what Skye could do never lessening. Clicking back to the home page, she found the contact information of the tattoo shop and dialed it on her phone, holding the small, flat device between her ear and shoulder as she searched the website to see if there was any further information on this Skye. 

“Adaptive Artistry Tattoo, this is Kennedy, what can I help you with?” came a chipper, slightly husky voice down the line. 

“Um, yeah, hi. I was just looking at your website, and I was hoping I could make an appointment to see Skye about getting a tattoo,” she replied, turning her attention to the voice in her ear instead of the site in front of her. 

“Yeah, absolutely! Skye’s one of our best and favorite artists. She’s usually booked up a bit in advance, let me look at her book,” Kennedy said and Lexa could hear pages flipping over the rock music in the background. “It must be your lucky day. If you’re available, she’s actually got an hour slot open tomorrow at one.” 

“Yeah, no, that’d be great,” Lexa answered, smiling at the thought of getting a start on this new adventure so quickly. 

“Awesome, I’ll write you in. What’s your name, and do you know what you’re wanting done?” 

“Lexa, Lexa Amundsen. As far as the design, I was kind of hoping that Skye would be willing to work with me to come up with something that would be appropriate.”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. Her art is badass. She’s a creative genius, in my opinion. You’ll definitely just want to do a consultation, then, so don’t plan on getting any actual ink tomorrow.” 

“That’s fine.” 

“Great. And have you decided where you’d like the tattoo to be placed on your body?” 

Lexa paused and licked her lips. “My right arm. Well, I mean, what’s left of my arm. My lower arm was amputated a little over a year ago, and I was wanting to get my residual limb tattooed, if that’s possible.” 

“Cool, cool, we do any and every body part. Trust me, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing we haven’t seen,” Kennedy replied, the smile evident in her voice. “I tell you what, though, let me put you on hold for just a minute. I want to ask Skye if she wants a longer appointment or if the hour will be fine. Do you mind?” 

“No, of course not, thank you,” Lexa said, smiling slightly as the rock music she could hear faintly in the background suddenly filled her ear. Just after the song had changed, the music cut out again. 

“Thanks for holding on, Lexa. Skye said she thinks it’ll be fine, but if you need more time she’s got some wiggle room with her schedule tomorrow,” Kennedy conveyed. 

“Great, thank you.” 

“We’ll see you tomorrow at one. Let us know if you’re going to be late or need to reschedule.” 

Lexa agreed to do so then hit the red button on the screen of her phone. Leaning back in her chair, she stretched her arms over her head, smiling. Even the sloppy, very much not artistically inclined scribbling on her arm made it feel more like a part of her, and she felt a little excitement well in the sometimes hollow pit in her chest. Tomorrow was going to be a good day. 

Chapter 4

Lexa pulled the glass door open, stepping into Adaptive Artistry Tattoo and was greeted by a smiling girl. 

“Hey there! Wanting to get some ink today?” she asked. 

Lexa approached the half wall the girl was standing behind. “I have an appointment for a consultation, actually,” she answered, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“Oh, right on. I’m Kennedy, you must be…” she trailed off for a moment, looking down at what Lexa assumed was an appointment book. “Lexa. You’re here to see Skye,” she finished, looking up with a smile. “Skye!” she shouted over her shoulder. “Badass arm, by the way,” Kennedy said, nodding at Lexa’s prosthetic. 

“Thanks,” Lexa said with a bit of a shrug, lifting her robotic arm and curling the fingers into a fist before straightening them back out to their resting position. 

“Ignore her,” a new voice said, and Lexa looked up and lost her breath. The blonde that walked out to her had a tattoos covering her right arm from the shoulder that was peeking from beneath her tank top (camisole?) to her wrist, but the thing that caught Lexa’s attention most was the pale blue of her eyes. “Hi, I’m Skye. We spoke on the phone. It’’s good to meet you, Lexa,” she said as she held her hand out. 

Lexa looked at her hand dumbly for a moment before holding out her prosthetic and curling the fingers around Skye’s hand. For the first time in a while, she wished she could feel how the girl’s skin felt as their palms touched. ““It’s fine, it is pretty awesome,” she answered with a bit of a shrug. “It’’s good to meet you, too, Skye,” she said belatedly. 

Skye grinned and released Lexa’s hand. “Come on, let’s go to my station and we can talk about what you’ve got in mind,” she said, leading Lexa back to a small but not stifling room with walls on two sides that stopped a few feet short of the ceiling. The walls were completely covered with photographs of sketches, finished tattoos, and what appeared to be a dozen or so hand written letters in frames. The only open spaces were the two tall, narrow windows that let the natural sunlight in. On the counters there were fat photo albums. One of them was open to an intricate chest piece, the sketch on one side with small pictures of the tattoo in progress, and on the other side the healed, completed piece. 

“I know you’ve said you’’ve heard a little bit about some of my stuff, and I assume you checked out some of my stuff online, but did you want to flip through my portfolios? I want to make sure you feel like my work will be a good fit for you,” Skye said as she held her hand toward one of the comfortable chairs sitting to the side, away from the tattoo chair in the center of the room. 

Lexa waited until Skye sat down before taking her seat, her eyes flitting over the plethora of artwork around her. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not my first tattoo but…” she trailed off with a shrug, looking down at her arm. 

“But it might be your most important one,” Skye finished knowingly. 

Lexa looked up, her eyes searching Skye’s face for any sign of mocking or (other negative thing) but found none. In response, she pulled her chin down once quickly. “So, I know you’ve done a lot of work on…” she trailed off, using her left hand to motion vaguely to her chest area. 

Skye smiled and chuckled softly. “Post breast reconstruction and mastectomies, yes.” 

“How much scarring are you used to dealing with?” Lexa asked, knowing that would be one of the biggest hurdles to getting a quality tattoo. 

Skye reached out and opened one of her photo albums and flipped about halfway back. “Here’s some of my previous clients that allowed me to take before pictures. Not everyone was comfortable with it, of course, but I think some of these will give you a good idea.”” 

Lexa scooted her chair a bit closer, leaning in to slowly flip through the book. Some of the pictures seemed to only have minor scarring – a faint horizontal line where the nipple and areola used to be – but others looked more like the scars that she was more used to seeing on herself and other Marines she’d known who’d been injured while deployed. There were some that had harsh, jagged lines bisecting and trisecting a battered chest, some that were scarcely breast shaped due to puckering and scarring. Lexa’’s heart felt heavy looking at the pictures of women she’d never know, the women who were no less warriors than she was even if they never served in the military. 

What surprised Lexa most, though, were the after pictures. Even with swelling and redness around the art from a freshly finished tattoo, the results were breathtaking. She pressed her lips together and pulled them slightly between her teeth, an old habit from when she felt her emotions were getting to be too much, and looked up at the ceiling to take a slow, deep breath. She must have been slightly allergic to something in the shop; there was no other explanation as to why her eyes were suddenly watering. After a moment, she looked at Skye who was gazing at her with an open expression. She didn’t feel judged or like she had to make conversation, and the silence was oddly comfortable. “You changed their lives,” Lexa finally said softly. 

Skye shook her head self-deprecatingly. “They changed their own lives. I just got the privilege to be a tiny part of them taking their lives back,” she said simply. 

The sentiment made Lexa smile, the tension in her chest and shoulders that she hadn’t even realized was there relaxing. “Do you want to see it?” she asked, holding up her arm. 

“Only when you’re ready. I don’t need to see it until we decide on a sketch so I can make sure it flows with any existing scars and, of course, the shape.”  
With a quick, single nod, Lexa pressed the button on the side of her prosthetic to release the suction and pulled it off, setting it on the counter. She removed the silicone liner, displaying her arm for the first person outside of her medical team and other amputees. 

Skye leaned forward, looking at Lexa’s face while she removed her equipment. “May I?” she asked, holding one hand out. At Lexa’s curt nod and held out arm, Skye gently placed one hand beneath Lexa’s elbow, examining the residual limb closely. Though she had a good amount of experience with tattooing over scars, every client was different. “Have you talked to any of your medical team about getting this tattoo?” she asked, her eyes taking in every faded scar from the small, spidery ones that were obviously from the stitches, to the long, smooth one that curled around the end of Lexa’s arm like some sort of macabre smile. 

Lexa shook her head, trying to remember to breathe as Skye’s hand cupped her elbow so softly. “I wanted to see if it was even something I could consider before talking to them about it,” she replied. 

Skye nodded. “That makes sense. You know I’ve never tattooed a residual limb, though, right? I’m not saying it can’’t be done, not at all, but I want to be totally clear and transparent and all that. How long post-surgery are you?” 

“A little over a year. I was lucky and didn’t have to have any revisions. The surgeon did a really nice job. They said it was because they had extra skin and muscle to work with since everything was just really fucked up instead of totally gone. Pardon my language, ma’’am,” Lexa said quickly, her cheeks tinting as she realized what she had said. 

Skye laughed and shook her head. “I was raised in a military family; that’s the least of what I’ve heard over the years.”” 

That tidbit intrigued Lexa, and she perked up slightly. “What branch?”

“Dad was Air Force. Mom is Navy.” 

The different verbs didn’t escape Lexa’s notice. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said sincerely. She was intimately familiar with how it felt to lose a parent to death. 

“It’s been a while, now,” Skye said with a half shrug. “Thank you, though.” 

“Your mom is still in?” 

Skye nodded, smiling. “She’s actually one of the (head doctor/ surgeon thing) at Walter Reed.” 

“Wait a sec. Hamilton… Your mother is (rank) Hamilton?” Lexa asked. Though their last names were the same, she’d had no reason to believe that her tattooist and one of the top surgeons at the (acronym for hospital) were in any way connected, much less mother and daughter. 

Chuckling, Skye leaned back in her chair, turning a framed picture around so Lexa could see it. It was a candid picture of Skye and (rank) Hamilton smiling with their arms around each other. Even though it was only a picture, Lexa could see the similarities between the two women. The silky blonde of their hair was similar, though the older Hamilton’’s was slightly darker. Their smiles were nearly identical as was the shape of their eyes. Lexa could clearly see parts of what must have been her father, though, as well. Skye had an adorable dimple in her chin that her mother didn’t have, and the blue of her eyes wasn’t mirrored in her mother’s. 

“Damn,” Lexa said with a soft laugh, her smile making her cheekbones even more pronounced. “I’m surprised you haven’t done more of these, then.” 

“We keep our work separate. I mean, I’ve obviously tattooed tons of service members, hell, they probably make up at least half of my clientele, but I have never asked her about sending people my way and she’s never offered.” 

“That makes sense. I can’t imagine her suggesting that any of her patients get a tattoo.” 

“It took her a while to get used to the idea that this was the career I had chosen for myself. I think both she and my father had always assumed I’d enlist. Instead, I went to college and paid most of my way through it doing this. Of course, the (college assistance for sm kids) didn’’t hurt, either. Oh my god, please tell me to stop talking. We should be talking about you, not me,” Skye finished, her cheeks tinging pink. 

Lexa smiled and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. “It’s nice not to talk about me for a change.” 

“I can understand that, but I would like to know more about you,” Skye said, looking down at the arm still resting in her palm, trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach that she felt whenever her eyes met the vibrant green of Lexa’’s.

“What do you want to know?” Lexa asked, not pulling her arm back from Skye’s hand. 

Everything, she thought. “What branch are you in?” 

“Marine Corps, ma’am.” 

“Jarhead, huh?” Skye teased with a good natured grin. 

“Yes, ma’am, through and through.” 

“Your head seems decidedly un-jar like.” 

“Looks can be deceiving, ma’am, just ask my CO.” 

Skye’s laugh was bright and light, easily filling the small room and drifting out over the top of the walls. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

Lexa couldn’t help the way the corners of her lips curled up. The sound of Skye’s laughter made her stomach flip and clench. “Anything else?” she asked, bracing herself for the inevitable question about her injury. 

“Where are you from? How old were you when you enlisted?” 

Lexa’s head cocked to the side just the slightest bit. “Don’t you want to know how I lost my arm?” 

Skye arched her eyebrow and gave Lexa a puzzled look. “Is it relevant to your tattoo?” Lexa shook her head. “Then it’s really not any of my business. I’m sure you get asked that question all the time and are sick of telling the story, especially to people you don’t know and whose concern it is absolutely none of.” 

Lexa’s insides flipped again and her stomach felt like liquid. She cleared her throat against the odd lump that had formed there. “Thank you.” In a strange way, it actually made a small part of Lexa want to tell Skye. I’m actually local-ish, grew up in Baltimore, and I enlisted right out of high school. I finished boot before I was even eighteen,” she said with a bit of pride. 

“Looks like we’ve got a badass here, ladies and gentlemen,” Skye said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. The smile on her face and the twinkle in her eye took any potential sting out of the words. 

“Ha ha,” Lexa deadpanned but cracked a smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled so much. 

“Do you still have family in Baltimore?” 

Lexa’s smile fell and her heart clenched. “No, ma’am. I lost my mother when I was on my first tour. It’s just me and the Marines.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Lexa,” Skye said, reaching her empty hand out to rest it gently on Lexa’s bare knee. 

“It happens,” Lexa minimized. “Drunk driver hit her when she was headed home from work. I didn’t even find out for almost a month after it happened. I was deep in the sandbox, and none of her friends knew how to reach me until my letters started piling up in her mailbox. It had just been the two of us my whole life. People always expect the news to come from the desert, not go out to it. Anyway, um, what do you think about Rizzo?” 

Skye’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Rizzo? Like from Grease? I mean, she’s awesome, but what does she have to do with anything?”” 

Lexa grinned. “No, Rizzo. My residual limb,” she said, bending her elbow a bit and drawing Skye’s attention back to it. 

“Oh,” Skye said with a soft chuckle. “It actually doesn’t look like it’ll be a problem at all. The scarring looks smooth, obviously well healed, and I’m assuming the size is stable,” she said as she looked up for a confirmation. Lexa’’s nod was all she needed. She turned Lexa’s arm over and back again, mentally estimating its size. “I’m sure you know, but keep in mind that scars accept the ink differently than regular skin. We may have to do several touch ups or even alter the design after it’s originally finished.” 

“I understand, that’s not a problem.” 

“All that’s left now, I guess, is to discuss design. What did you have in mind?” 

“I have a few different ideas, but I’m not at all creative so they may suck. Plus, I want it to look good with my arms on and off, so I was hoping you might be willing to work with my prosthetist about socket designs. I’d pay you for your time and art, obviously.” 

“I’ve never done anything like that, but I love a challenge and trying new things. Set up a meeting, and I’ll be glad to do what I can.”” 

“Thank you. Make sure you keep track of your time, though.” 

Skye laughed. “Trust me, I’m good at tracking time spent on art.” 

Lexa nodded, smiling at Skye. “So, I was thinking that right on the end could be some sort of mandala design or something that kind of flows upward,” she said, circling the end of her arm with her fingertip then sliding it up toward her elbow. ““I know it’s kind of a pain that I already have this tattoo here,” she said, pointing to the piece taking up almost all of her bicep from her elbow to her deltoid, “but is there any way you can make it work together?” 

“That depends on what that tattoo means to you, if it has a meaning, I mean.” 

“It’s a design my mother drew. I wanted to have something with me of hers when I went to recruit training, but a picture or something isn’t the slightest bit practical. She designed it and we both got it. I’m not sure how she talked the artist into doing it since I was only seventeen, but I didn’t ask. ---- The top part represents her, and the bottom part represents me. Even though most people don’’t see it, they connect together on the tender inside of my arm,” she explained, lifting her arm up so Skye could see the pale inside of her bicep. “The interwoven design represents how our lives have taken many varied paths, but we always traveled them together. The ends reach out to the other and fold in again on themselves to show that we can draw strength from others, but that strength is inside us all along. The style is inspired by Norse artwork. My mother’s family was from (country). I got busted in boot for damaging government property since I’d already signed my contract even though I got it before I went to Parris Island, but especially after everything that happened, I don’t regret a single drop of that ink. It was well worth getting my ass chewed every time a drill instructor saw it.” 

Skye listened closely, feeling her heart squeeze a bit. She was glad that Lexa had a piece of her mother with her as well even though she’d only met Lexa shortly before. “I’ll find a way to work it in. The lines are gorgeous, especially for it being a few years old.” She was extremely aware of how tricky lines could be, especially that many in such a small space. With lines that thin, you only got one chance to do it correctly. “I like the mandala idea, but most of them are colored. Are you wanting to go with a full color piece?” 

Lexa shrugged and looked at her arm, trying to envision what it would look like. “Maybe. I mean, I think that would look best and give you an easier time covering the scars, right?” 

“I can work with whatever you want. Don’t worry about me. If I can’t do something or if I don’t think it will look right, I’ll tell you,” Skye promised. “There’s a lot you can do with a black and grey piece, especially if you do stippling and other shading tricks so it doesn’t get boring.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. Seeing that they still had plenty of time she then leaned over and slid open a small drawer and pulled out a purple marker. “I can free hand some ideas if you like? Either on paper or on you and it will give me a better feel for what you’re looking for.” 

“Sketch away. I know I’m not much help with describing what I want,” Lexa said with a shrug. 

“You might be surprised how many people come in here without knowing exactly what they want, especially with the more intimate tattoos like this. People that are wanting a shop minimum tattoo are just going to pick a piece of flash off the wall anyway, so being able to actually work with someone like you is one of the main reasons I still love this job.”” 

“How long have you been tattooing?” 

“Officially? Six years. I started my official apprenticeship when I was eighteen. Unofficially, I worked in the shop from the time I was sixteen, just cleaning and taking clients and stuff, of course,” Skye said with a wink. ““What happened after hours, stayed after hours. Many citrus fruits, melons, bananas, and pig skins lost their dignity to my scratching back in the day.” 

“Better them than you.” 

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

“How did you get involved with tattooing for, um, those clients?” Lexa asked, faltering over what she could call them without being offensive. 

“Clients with mastectomies and reconstructions?” Skye supplied even though she made it sound as if she was clarifying Lexa’s statement. At Lexa’’s nod, she continued. “My mom’s best friend survived breast cancer. It was fucking terrible,” she said honestly. ““The chemo made her so sick she could barely hold anything down, even water, and the radiation literally burnt her skin. It was like getting a blistering sunburn every week (how often is radiation done?), and she hated everything about her body. She said it was like it betrayed her. She said it was like one of the things that used to make her feel most beautiful, most feminine, had been taken over and forcefully morphed into this terrible, ugly mass of scars and surface burns. Her partner was deployed, so she stayed with me and Mom pretty much throughout her treatment. 

“I have honestly never seen something that made me question modern medicine more than the side effects her treatments had. It’s one of the reasons I ended up with a double major in (whatever) art. I was bio before then – my parents wanted me to be a doctor since I didn’t have an interest in enlisting – but I just couldn’’t look at what she was going through and see the good in it. Tattoos make people feel good. They make them feel beautiful or badass or less alone. Sometimes they can even help people heal from a loss, whether it’s someone they loved or even a part of themselves.” Skye paused and shook her head for a moment. “She made it through, though. It was as hard as anything I’ve personally witnessed, as hard as when we lost my dad, but even when it was over, she still had the reminders of everything she had to endure every day. The scars weren’’t nearly as bad as some I’ve seen, but she hated looking at herself in the mirror. She said she hated even looking down. The doctor who did her reconstruction did a pretty decent job compared to some I’ve seen since then, but she still hated that her ‘nipples’ were just these raised bits of skin. They didn’t look natural at all. When I came home from work one night, she just asked me what I thought about getting tattoos to make them look better. 

“I told her I had heard of people who did that type of work, but I hadn’t seen any of it personally. So, I couldn’t really tell her if it would be much better than just drawing something with a marker. But the more I started to think about it, the more I applied what I had learned in my biology degree, the more I thought it was doable. I did a ton of research on people who were already doing that type of work and showed her examples. The look on her face at just the possibility of feeling normal again told me everything I needed to know. I knew I’d work my ass off to give her that if I could. She was brave as hell, honestly, to be my first client for nipple and areola coloring. I had only been officially tattooing for a couple of years by that point and even though I was good, this wasn’t something I’d drawn or flash from the wall, you know? It needed to look real, not like it had been drawn on with a Sharpie.  
“My mom came with her for the appointment. It was the first time she’d seen me work in person, so I was a nervous wreck at first. As it turned out, she was actually really helpful, and the three of us ended up sitting around with our tops off to kind of compare what features were consistent and what ‘flaws’ there were that made them have depth. When it was finished… I can’t even describe the feeling. Tears were streaming down both of their faces and as soon as I popped my gloves off, I was crying with them. Kennedy knocked on the door and peeked in to see if we were okay and swears to this day she’s traumatized by seeing my boobs. I think she was just traumatized at how much she enjoyed seeing my boobs,”” Skye said with a chuckle, wiping the moisture from her eyes. “Sorry, it was just a really powerful thing, you know?” 

Lexa shook her head and rested her hand on Skye’s. “Don’t apologize.” 

“Weren’t we supposed to be talking about you?” Skye asked, flushing slightly. 

Lexa shrugged one shoulder and gave Skye a half smile. “I like listening to you talk,” she said honestly. The sweet, husky timbre of Skye’s voice definitely did something to her. 

Skye felt her cheeks get warmer, and she smiled. “It’s a good thing we still have a lot more work to do, then, isn’t it?”” 

“I guess it is.” 

“Listen, I’ve got a tat in twenty minutes. Let me work up some designs, and we can meet again, if you’re available? Or, you know, we could meet for coffee or the hot beverage or alcoholic beverage of your choice. I mean, if you, you know, drink beverages.” 

Lexa licked her suddenly dry lips. She hadn’t been involved with anyone, even in a casual capacity, since coming back from her last tour. Defaulting to bluntness, she sat up straighter and squared her shoulders. “Are you asking me out on a date, ma’’am?” 

“That completely depends on your definition of a date and how such a question would be received. And if you think it would be completely inappropriate since we will be working together.” 

“Well, I have been known to drink beverages from time to time,” Lexa said, feeling the dragonflies in her stomach turn into dragons. “When would this beverage consumption take place?” 

“What’s your schedule look like? Mine is pretty flexible, and I know you probably have a more demanding life than I do.” 

Lexa couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped at Skye’s words. “Yeah, not so much right now. I pretty much do PT and therapy and try to figure out how the fuck I’’m going to qualify so I can get back on active duty. I’m pretty free any morning after 0930 and evenings after I’ve beat myself up at the range.”  
“Here, let me have your phone. I’ll give you my number, and you can call or text me when you want to get together. Give me at least tonight to come up with some sketches for you, though.” 

Lexa breathed in slowly through her nose, taking a few moments to give her just enough time to torture herself about the idea. Skye was gorgeous, there was no denying that, but Lexa didn’t know if she was ready to date. 

Sensing Lexa’s hesitation, Skye gave her a small smile. “It’s just a drink, whatever kind you want. It doesn’t have to be anything else. It’s just nice to get out of this place sometimes, and if I can have attractive and interesting company to join me, all the better.” 

Lexa was still for a moment, her expression hard to read, but then she dipped her chin once and pulled her phone out of her pocket, handing it to Skye. She accepted it back once Skye had finished tapping her number in, trying to ignore the way the warmth lingered a bit from Skye’s skin. She stuffed the phone back into her pocket and put her arm back on before standing and lingering by the door. “So, I’ll, um, call you or something,” she said awkwardly. 

“I look forward to it, Lexa,” Skye said honestly. “See you soon.” 

Lexa nodded and lifted her hand in a slight wave as she walked through the door, a slight spring in her step despite herself.

Lexa slid into the driver's seat of her car and pulled her phone from her pocket, staring at the new contact listed as "Skye (tattoo gun emoji)," her thumb hovering over the entry. A tiny part of her wondered if Skye had given her a fake number, but her logical mind took over and reminded her that Skye had offered the number. Still, a small part of the unfamiliar insecurity of the past year crept in, and her thumb pressed Skye's contact, choosing the messaging option. After starting a message and deleting it several times, she finally settled on one that sounded neutral enough for her liking.

This is Lexa. I just wanted to make sure you had my number in case you need to get ahold of me for anything.

Less than a minute passed before her phone dinged in reply.

Thanks! I may or may not have already programmed you into my phone, because I got your info off the appt book. (blink/blush emoji) That's not creepy, right?

Skye's response made Lexa laugh and her shoulders relax as she glided her thumb over the screen to answer.

Even if it is, it's too late now. (wink emoji)

I just wanted to make sure I didn't ignore your call. I mean, if you call or whatever. I usually don't answer unknown calls on my personal cell. I have a shop cell for that mess. (12 o'clock emoji, tattoo gun emoji, 12 o'clock emoji)

Lexa felt her breath catch in her chest. Skye hadn't given her her work number; she had given her her personal information. She sucked her full bottom lip into her mouth, worrying it with her top teeth.

Skye was extremely attractive, that went without saying, but it was her personality that really had Lexa thrown. The way she talked so openly and easily, the way she wasn't afraid to show how things affected her, the way she very obviously cared about each and every one of her clients was what made Lexa pay closer attention to her than she had to any girl in longer than she would have liked to admit. It wasn't that she wasn't interested, far from it, but she had spent practically every waking hour since her last tour figuring out how she could still have the life she wanted. What hadn't been consumed with physical therapy, doctor's visits, and support groups had been filled with the mountain of paperwork, not to mention leg work, involved in trying to stay active duty after her injury. Of course, if she couldn't manage to rifle qualify again the whole thing would be for naught.

The ding and vibration of her phone in her hand tore Lexa from her thoughts.

It's really not creepy, right? (worried emoji)

Lexa smiled and shook her head. No, it's not creepy, Skye. ('The scream' emoji, tongue sticking out emoji)

(Side eye emoji)

(Angel emoji, devil emoji, angel emoji) It's not creepy. Aren't you supposed to be getting ready to ink someone?

It's not as if I have to make the ink myself. Besides, it's our third session. He knows what to expect, and I've already got all the colors out.

Ahhh, gotcha. Well, I should head home and get out of the parking lot before someone asks if I'm lost. Gotta hit the range today. Fun fun. (Zipper mouth emoji)

I thought all you jarheads loved your rifles?

Oh, I do, I love her more than I can say, but I'm right handed. Well, used to be anyway, so requalifying is kicking my ass.

You'll get it. I can't imagine trying to shoot right handed, so I'm sure it'll just take some time.

Thanks, Skye. I'll let you get back to work.

Talk to you soon, Lexa.

Lexa tried to ignore the smile on her face as she backed out of her parking space and headed toward home.

Two days passed before Lexa got up the nerve to contact Skye again. She knew she didn't need to wait that long in Skye's opinion, but it was her own nervousness that caused her to open and close Skye's contact on her phone numerous times. When she was sitting on the couch in nothing but her towel, her curly hair damp and sticking to her back, she picked up her phone and quickly dialed Skye's number before she could change her mind.

"Hey, you," Skye said as she picked up on the third ring. "I was wondering when I was going to hear from you."

Lexa could hear the smile in Skye's voice, and it both relaxed her and made her ever so slightly more nervous at the same time. "Oh yeah? Sorry I kept you waiting, then. I just had to..." she trailed off and cleared her throat, not wanting to admit the reason it had taken so long.

"No problem. It actually gave me time to do some research and come up with a few different designs I'm hoping you'll like. Or, you know, at least give us a place to start from."

"Research? Am I going to be quizzed?"

Skye's soft laugh made Lexa's stomach flutter. "Maybe, but don't worry. You can phone a friend, and I have all the answers."

"Good to know," Lexa said with a smile. "So, I'm free this afternoon. Did you want to go get that beverage?" she asked, picking at a loose thread on her towel.

"That is actually perfect timing. I had a back piece scheduled, but they had to cancel, and I really don't feel like sticking around here for the few walk ins that might show up in the next several hours."

"Are you sure? I don't want to cut into your pay or whatever."

"Totally sure. It's one of the good things about making my own schedule; I can take off whenever I like. Of course, I don't get paid leave, but it's totally worth it. Do you have some place you want to meet?"

"Depends. How do you feel about girls in tight cropped tops and tasty hotwings?"

"Are you proposing we go to Hooters? Because I'm totally down with that idea. I haven't had lunch yet."

Lexa's cheeks flushed, and she was very glad that Skye couldn't see her face. "Oh my god, Skye, I was kidding, but I'll make a mental note. I haven't had lunch yet, either. Do you know (coffee shop name having to do with grounder)?"  
"It's one of my faves, actually. Wanna meet there in twenty?"

"I, um, I kind of just got out of the shower. Give me an hour?"

"Oh please, you're not so far out of boot that you can't get ready in less than an hour, are you?" Skye teased.

"I had a crew cut back then," Lexa dead panned, already making her way to the bathroom to get ready.

"Sexy. Well, it's not far from the shop, so I'm going to go on over so I don't get stuck with a walk in or something. Take your time, though. I'm in no rush."

"Okay, thanks. I'll see you in a little bit, then."

"I'm looking forward to it," Skye said before hanging up.

Twenty five minutes later, Lexa pulled the coffee shop door open and slid her sunglasses up onto her head. It was bustling, but not overly busy, and it didn't take long to identify Skye's blonde head bent over her phone and sitting at a table in the back corner. It didn't escape Lexa's notice that Skye had left the seat open that faced the rest of the shop, the junction of two solid walls behind it.

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," Lexa said as she slid into the open chair, setting her keys on the table with a soft jingle.  
“Jesus!” Skye startled, her hand flying to her heart in effort to keep it inside her chest. “I’m going to have to get you a cat collar,” she teased, smiling at Lexa  
Lexa’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t apologize. She merely shrugged and straightened out her keys. “Did you already eat?”  
“Nah, I was waiting for you since you said you hadn’t eaten either. Let’s go order, though. I’m starved,” she said as she pocketed her phone and stood from the small circular table.  
It was a small thing, but it still made Lexa smile. She followed Skye to the ordering counter, browsing the chalkboard menu as she half listened to Skye’s order.  
"I'll have the California club with barbeque chips and that chocolate chip cookie that's the size of my head," Skye said with a grin. "Oh, and a water and whatever she's having," she added, nodding her head slightly at Lexa.

"Oh, no, that's totally not necessary," Lexa demurred quickly, pulling her wallet out of her pocket as if in proof of her statement.

"I know, Lexa, but let me do this, okay? It's, like, my way to say thanks," Skye explained.

Part of Lexa really appreciated the gesture, but an unexpected part of her seemed disappointed for Skye's reason behind paying. It surprised her, but she swallowed down the feeling. Instead, she gave Skye a small smile and nodded once. "I'll have the same thing," she finally told the cashier. "Thank you, Skye," she said softly once they had their order number and were headed back to their table.

"It's not every day I get to buy lunch for someone as beautiful and awesome as you," Skye replied with a lopsided grin.

Lexa scoffed and rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, too. "Hey, you're the one buying lunch, so I think that makes you the awesome one."

"You know what I mean," Skye said with an arched eyebrow, poking Lexa in the arm.

Lexa's face turned serious for a moment, and she nodded. "Yeah, I do. I just... It's not something I think about, you know?"

Skye nodded. "The good service members never do."

It was a little odd, though extremely refreshing, to meet a civilian who had a good understanding of military culture. Of course, Skye was only a civilian in title; she had been raised in a military home.

"So, do you want to see what I've been working on?" Skye asked, interrupting Lexa's thoughts as she pulled a folder from her bag. At Lexa's nod, she opened the folder and removed several pieces of paper from the pockets. There were a few sketches and a page full of what seemed to be jumbled and jotted down notes in a neat, left handed slant.

"You weren't kidding about doing research, were you?"

"I never kid about tattoos," Skye said with a smile. She turned the page of notes around so that it was facing Lexa. "You mentioned that your bicep tat was kind of Norse inspired, so I started there. Did you know that your last name comes from root words, which I will not even try to pronounce, meaning protection, the edge of a sword, and awe and terror?"

Lexa's eyebrows went up. "I knew it was Norwegian, I got it from my mom, but I never thought to find out what it meant."

"Well, now you know. Anyway, going off of that, I ended up finding something called the Helm of Awe. It's basically this kind of magical symbol type thing from back in the day that was said to protect the wearer in battle and struck awe and fear into any that saw it. It was cut into lead and pressed between the eyebrows, but I'm not sure if that means it was an actual piece of metal or, like, a tattoo or something. In any case, I thought it might be interesting to have as a center piece and kind of build out from that," she explained, pointing to a symmetrical design that resembled eight tridents pointing out from a central point, meeting in the center of a circle. There were three short lines intersecting each of the long lines perpendicularly outside the circle. “There are a ton of different variations I found, so there’s definitely some leeway if you like this but don’t like the harsh, simple lines. Here are some of the different ideas I had for it. Of course, if it’s not something you’re into, that’s totally fine. I just thought it was kind of cool. I also did some other sketches using a more mandala like approach.”  
Skye slid the rest of the drawings toward Lexa as their food was delivered by a smiling employee. She snagged a chip from her plate and pooped it into her mouth. "I knew you hadn't decided on full color or black and gray, so I didn't color any of them. I didn't know what type of palette you'd want, anyway."

Lexa looked at the notes and the sketches carefully. There was a lot more information and options that she'd imagined. "Do you do this type of research for all your clients?" she asked then took a bite of her sandwich.

Skye shrugged slightly and gave a half nod, but the slight pink in her cheeks gave Lexa the real answer. "Only for people who are worth it," she finally answered. "That sounded bad. I mean, obviously I care about what all my clients want, even the brodudes and giggling, barely eighteen year old girls. It's a permanent mark after all, but there's a difference between someone who comes in wanting a tattoo because they like the way it looks and someone who comes in wanting a tattoo to memorialize or honor a loved one or a major event in their life or help them better themselves in some way, you know?"

Lexa nodded. She thought she understood. God knew she'd encountered enough idiotic but well done tattoos in her years as a Marine. She sometimes wondered what percentage of the tattoo removal industry was supported by former and current military members. "Thank you, for all this," she said, straightening out the pages in front of her. "I don't know how you expect me to choose, though. They are all gorgeous. Actually, that may be a bit of an understatement," she added, lightly tracing her finger along one of the gently curving lines.

Skye's smile lit up her eyes, and Lexa swore that it lit up the entire room, as well. "I'm just glad you like them. Maybe start with if you want to go with a standard type mandala or one of the Helm of Awe inspired ones?"

Lexa thought for a moment. "You said the Helm of Awe was worn between the eyebrows, though. Would it still make sense on my arm?"

Skye nodded. "There's a ton of sites that came up when I Googled it. Some places say that the symbol was also used on shields to make the wielder irresistible, invulnerable, and some places even state invisible. Besides, there's about eighty million pics of people with it tattooed on them everywhere from their chest to their elbows to their butt cheeks."

"I don't want something that a billion other people have."

"I know, and trust me, we'll make it unique to you. The rose is one of the most popular designs that people get tattooed, but they aren't all the same. Sure, there's the basic, flash style rose, but any artist worth their salt can take that and make it unique to the person and unique to the placement on the body. We'll go through a thousand different designs until we find the right one for you," Skye promised.

Skye's explanation made Lexa relax a bit. She knew that Skye's portfolio spoke for itself, but the reassurance that there wasn't a time limit or sketch limit on something this important to her meant a lot. "I think I like the Helm of Awe idea, plus it might be easier to work it in with the style I've already got. I'll want to do some of my own research on it, though, just to make sure that it wouldn't have, like, negative connotations or something, especially if it was used in magic."

It struck Skye as a bit odd that Lexa would be concerned about the magical properties of the symbol, it wasn't as if magic was real, but it was strangely endearing at the same time. Of course, it could have been that everything Skye knew about Lexa so far was strangely endearing. "No problem. Take all the time you need. You've still got to talk to your medical team about it anyway, right?"

"Ugh, yes. My OT will probably have a thing or two to say about it. She has an opinion on everything. That's probably one of the things that makes her good at her job, but it's still annoying."

Skye laughed at that, nodding her head. "Tell me about it. My mom definitely has her own ideas about things and unless you have concrete, tangible evidence to prove otherwise, your opinion is like your asshole; everybody's got one and you shouldn't share it with everyone."

"And here I thought the Navy was all about sharing. They're stuck in tight quarters so much of the time. Don't they double up on racks?" Lexa said, her tone flat but her eyes sparkling and the edges of her lips curling up just a bit.

Skye laughed and shook her head while she shrugged. "I honestly don't want to know. I stay as far away from that branch rivalry as possible.”  
“That’s probably a good idea,” Lexa said with a chuckle, carefully gathering the sketches into a stack so they wouldn’t get messed up while they ate. “So, why didn’t you end up going in? You mentioned before that your parents wanted that, right?”  
Skye covered her mouth with her hand as she nodded, waiting until she swallowed to give her answer. “It was definitely something I considered. I don’t know if it was specifically expected of me, but it was certainly always in the back of my mind, you know? When I was little, I just assumed that I’d be a Navy doc or medic like my mom, but when I got older and actually realized what it meant to be in the military, it just wasn’t for me. I think it’s awesome, and really important, but taking orders has always been hard for me. Dad used to say that I was born a five star general. Evidently I had my own ideas about things, even when I was a baby. I would get focused on something and it would be nearly impossible to redirect my attention. That ended up being a really great thing when it came to my art or even school work but not such a great thing when it came to doing something I didn’t feel like doing. I probably would have been murdered by the drill instructors out of frustration in boot camp. Mom calls me stubborn, Daddy called me an independent leader,” she said with a wistful smile. 

Lexa smiled a bit sadly at Skye’s reminiscence. She understood how memories, even good ones, could be really painful. “Sounds like a very good reason not to enlist. It would have been a tragedy for you to have been murdered in boot and to have deprived the world of your art.”” 

Skye’s cheeks colored slightly, and she looked down bashfully. “It’s not like I’m Leonardo Di Vinci or anything; I just do tattoos.” 

“Some might say that doing a quality tattoo is much more difficult than painting on canvas. You only get one shot to get it right.” 

Raising her plastic cup of water, Skye smiled. “I’ll drink to that. If you fuck up a tattoo, you’re screwed.” 

“Here’s to not fucking up tattoos,” Lexa replied as she gently tapped her plastic cup against Skye’s. 

“Why did you decide to enlist?” Skye asked after a few moments of comfortable silence. 

Lexa pressed her lips together thoughtfully, trying to think of a way to explain her thought process. “A lot of reasons, really. I had always been interested in the military and what it represented – the good stuff, not the xenophobic bullshit –– and it seemed like a good opportunity to be able to help protect the people I loved and the country I love. I know, I know, that’s super cheesy, but I grew up hearing about how amazing America is. My mom was first generation; my grandparents immigrated to Chicago when she was only ten. She was old enough to remember Norway, but young enough to both appreciate the US and have the pressure put on her to be successful and take full advantage of the opportunities her parents’ sacrifice afforded her.” 

“That would be hard, I think.” 

Lexa nodded. “It was, I think, because she wanted so badly to be a good daughter and to make them proud, but sometimes life has a different plan for us, you know?” At Skye’s nod, she continued. “My mom was an excellent student, really, really smart, too smart, my bestefar would say, but she fell in love with a boy that her parents didn’t approve of. He was kind and gentle and smart and brave, he really was all the things that someone should want for their child to find in a partner, you know? None of that mattered, though, because he was black. When she got pregnant with me, they pretty much lost it. Morfar could tolerate a youthful, rebellious fling, but he wouldn’t have my father in the family. It’s not as if it even mattered; the world is different than it was when he was growing up. Even bestemor tried to talk sense into him, because she could see how much my mother really loved my father and how much it hurt her to fight with her own father. Instead of relenting, though, he simply moved the family to Baltimore without any notice. As much as it killed my mother, she couldn’t refuse even though she couldn’t contact my father to tell him what was happening. She was only seventeen, and with a baby on the way, she didn’’t think she had any choice.” 

Skye listened quietly, taking in everything Lexa was sharing with her. Even if it wasn’t a date, specifically, she was really enjoying getting to know Lexa better. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for her,” she said honestly when Lexa paused. 

“Me neither, honestly. It’s so weird for me to think of him acting like that, too, because he never did anything but dote on me. It’s hard to reconcile the kind, gentle, story telling, candy giving man who loved me and treated me like I was the best thing to ever happen to him with the man that refused to let his daughter be happy with the man she loved simply because of the color of his skin. I never saw that side of him, and it’s because my mom kept it from me. He died when I was in junior high, before I started asking really in depth questions about who my father was and why he wasn’t around. I mean, it probably doesn’t hurt that I look more like my mom than my father, but I feel really, really lucky that I never had to live with that when I was a kid. Plus, I got this awesome mess of hair out of the deal,” Lexa said with a grin, running her fingers through the messy nest of curls that hung over her left shoulder. 

“I love your hair,” Skye blurted before she could really think about it. “I mean, it’s really pretty, and I love the shaved part.” 

Lexa gave Skye a slight smile. “I tell people it’s more for practicality since it’s hard enough to get a comb through this mess with my intact arm, but really, I like how it looks, too,” she said, wrapping her left arm over the top of her head and rubbing her fingertips over the stubble on the right side of her head. It had taken the entire time since her crew cut in boot camp to grow her hair back out to where it was now, and she didn’t want to cut it all off again, but the loose curls got far too tangled for her to try to mess with it using one of her prosthetics. 

In a fit of rage a couple of months after her injury, she’d taken scissors to the right side of her head, messily hacking off the long hair from just above her temple, around her ear, and the right side of her neck. When she’d shown up to therapy the following day with eyebrows furrowed in frustration and anger and eyes puffy and rimmed in red, Cat had hugged her tightly, found a pair of hair clippers, and straightened out the line to make it look intentional. Since then, she’d kept the style. She’d occasionally get lines or a design cut into the shaved side, but it remained largely unchanged. It also didn’t hurt when she had to pull all of her hair tightly back to wear beneath her uniform cap. When she was out of uniform, she had seen the looks she’d occasionally receive, but since she looked put together in uniform, she managed not to get busted for it. 

Skye laughed at her explanation. “Well, I’m glad it serves a dual purpose, then. God knows my hair has been to hell and back with me. You should have seen my black phase back in seventh grade. It drove my mom absolutely insane, but I thought it looked bad ass because of my eyes. Of course, I also thought I was some sort of a bad ass back then, too. Oh, to be that young and naive again,” she said with a faux nostalgic look. 

“I’m sure you looked every bit the part, even if you are a big art nerd.” 

“Hey! Let me remind you that you’re going to let this art nerd jab you with a needle a zillion times.” 

“When you say it like that, maybe I should rethink this tattoo thing. Are you sure you’re experienced with this whole deal?” Lexa teased with a straight face.  
“You wound me, madam. I can assure you that I’m a professional, and my magnetic personality and great cleavage make my tattoos much more bearable,” Skye said as she gave Lexa a side eye and sipped from her water. 

Lexa choked on her water, and Skye laughed happily. “I know it’s good, but damn, I didn’t mean to almost kill you,” Skye said, her husky voice bright with humor. 

“No, no, it’s fine, just, you know, wrong pipe,” Lexa managed to say, her voice strangled as her body over zealously tried to rid itself of the few drops of moisture that hit her trachea. 

“Now you sound like Kennedy. She would say she’s been personally victimized by my breasts, too.” 

Lexa covered her face with her hand, feeling her cheeks flame. “Maybe we should start a support group.” 

“Maybe you should. You could have pot luck dinners and talk about how these babies have ruined your life,” Skye teased, her eyes shining. 

“Can we talk about anything else?” Lexa asked, peeking one eye through her fingers. 

“If you insist.” Skye cocked her head and waited for another topic. After several moments, she chuckled. “If you want to talk about something else, you have to pick the category. The girls and I are happy to talk about this all day,” she teased, pointing to one breast and then the other. 

“Maybe we should talk about my breasts,” Lexa challenged even as her ears burned. 

“Now that’s something I could get on board with,” Skye answered, waggling her eyebrows a few times for good measure. 

“Are you sure you’re not in the military?” Lexa asked with a soft laugh. 

“Nah, but growing up on bases didn’t help my decency much. I never claimed to be a graduate from Miss Manners School of Etiquette or whatever.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lexa chuckled, brushing her hair back from her face.

Lexa logged on to her computer to do a bit of research on the Helm of Awe, finding thousands of sites that referenced it. Some were fairly informative from a scholarly point of view, taking more of a historical and archaeological approach, some only mentioned the name with little to no information about it, and others focused on the magical properties still usable today. It was the final category that drew her attention the most, though she did explore the scholastic information first. Her training had ingrained in her that no matter how foolish a belief might sound to her, if it was deeply held by someone else, it was important. She found mention of worms living inside every person, sometimes called dragons or wyverns, spells that could be used incorporating the symbol, instructions on what chants to use to invoke the Helm of Awe’s protection, even a claim that it made one user irresistible in bed, though several other sites thoroughly discounted the claim. 

As was the case with many symbols that had been used throughout history, and times long before that, as well, Lexa wondered how much of the information she fond was based on what he wearer believed. It was well documented that a person’s belief in the usefulness of something often made it so. Even still, there were things that couldn’’t be explained, at least not at that point in human development. The more she investigated the symbol, the more it seemed to speak to her. She had a strong connection with her Norwegian heritage, thanks to her grandparents, and listened eagerly on their knees or at their feet to every story they told of their homeland, no matter how fantastical. 

She couldn’t help but wonder about Skye having been the one to bring the Helm of Awe to her attention. Lexa hadn’t told Skye much about her in their first meeting, at least not much of who she was beneath the surface countenance, and yet, Skye had brought her something that was meaningful to her in a way that was sincere and thoughtful. Part of her, a tiny bit she tended to try to ignore consciously but that always influenced every decision she made, whispered that perhaps it was her grandparents’ and mother’s way of watching over her, of telling her that they still think of her, that they still see her, that they’re proud of her. The thought made her throat tight, and she found it a little difficult to breathe. When she lifted her hand to her face, there were wet tracks sliding over her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. 

With her decision made, Lexa picked up her phone and slid her thumb over the touch screen of her phone, shaking her head and deleting different messages thanking Skye for her talent and art and for finding the symbol at all three times before she finally, quickly, hit enter before she could change her mind.  
Skye smiled in the middle of the tattoo she was doing as she saw the contact name and message scroll across the top of her screen as it vibrated on the table beside her. 

The Helm of Awe. Let’s do this thing.

“What’s got you so peppy at the ass crack of dawn, Amundsen?” Cat asks as Lexa pushes through the doors to the therapy room even earlier than she typically arrives. Cat is still nursing a cup of coffee that’s barely coffee for the amount of cream and sugar it is drowned in. 

“Maybe I just missed your annoying ass,” Lexa replies good naturedly. 

“I could have told you that,” Cat quips with a roll of her eyes. “Come have a cup with me. You know I’m useless until I’m caffeinated.” 

“You mean until you’re sugared up. You could drink decaf and still get the buzz from the half ton of sugar you drop in that thing,” Lexa says, pointing to Cat’s over sized mug. 

“Hey, I like my coffee like I like my lovers – strong, tan, sweet, and hot.” 

Lexa snorts softly by way of laughing, pouring a cup of the extremely dark liquid. She nearly coughs up a lung as she takes a sip. “Holy fuck, Cat. You weren’t kidding about the strong part.” 

Cat laughs and scoots the containers of sugar and creamer toward Lexa, bending her knee to prop her heel up in the seat of her chair. 

Lexa shakes her head in disbelief as she tries to tone down her coffee with the powdered creamer and a bit of sugar.Once it was a dark brown color instead of nearly pitch black, she pulls out one of the chairs beside Cat and sits down."Now I know why everyone brings their own coffee," she teases.

Cat just laughs, the sound clear and bright. "It's not my fault none of you can hang with some decent coffee."

"Uh huh. I think maybe you got a little too much sand between your ears back in the day."

"Where do you think I learned how to make coffee like this?It was a cardinal sin to throw out the grounds.You just added more and more until it was too full.By the end of the week it was like sludge.It was perfect.Good times," Cat says with a longing look on her face.

"Disgusting," Lexa says with a short laugh, drinking her coffee anyway.

"Yeah, well, you get used to it," Cat shrugs. "Seriously, though, what's got you here even earlier than usual?You know you're my first client, so you don't have to show early."

Lexa takes another sip of coffee and nods. "I know.But I got woken up a few hours ago and couldn't go back to sleep anyway. It was probably just someone slamming their door, but..."She trails off and shrugs again.

"Ah, yeah, I feel you there.Well, you're always welcome to come up here as early as you like. If I'm not here yet, just shoot me a text or something.I don't live far."

"Thanks.I'll keep that in mind. I was wanting to talk to you about something, too, and I didn't want to cut into your time with anyone else," she said after a few moments.

Sitting up straight in her chair, Cat leans forward a bit to give Lexa her undivided attention. "What's up?"

"So, I've been thinking about getting another tattoo," Lexa starts, absent mindedly flexing and relaxing her prosthetic hand.

"You don't really need anyone's permission to do that," Cat says, a bit puzzled.

"No, I know, I just mean that I'm thinking about having my residual limb tattooed," she explains, lifting her right arm slightly.

"Oh, so you're wanting to know if it's a terrible idea," Cat supplies.

"Basically, yeah."  
"Well, it's probably going to hurt a hell of a lot more than any of your past ones.How's your desensitization going?"

"It's all right. It doesn't feel like lightning every time I accidentally bump it on something, so that's a big improvement.That little spiky ball thing you gave me a couple of months ago has helped.I try to rub that all over it when I'm reading or watching TV or whatever when I don't need my hand."

Cat nods."Good, that's the best way to do it.Just whenever you think about it. You should try different textures of things, too, like different fabrics and stuff.Sometimes something you wouldn't think would set it off will. Really soft, smooth things like satin and silk really fucked with me for a while. I could only sleep on kind of rough, terrible, cotton sheets for months.That wasn't a problem when I was still inpatient, obviously," she says with a wry look, and Lexa chuckles knowingly, "but when I got home, it was definitely a problem. I had to send my boyfriend at the time to the BX to get the cheapest, shittiest sheets they had."

"I wondered if it might help with that, too. Kind of completely over stimulate it all at once?" Lexa suggests.

Cat nods thoughtfully."That could work. But it could also set off a pain loop.If you do this, you need to be really, really aware of everything you're feeling when you do it. Have you picked out an artist yet?"

"I found one that does amazing work.She's never worked on a limb amputation before, but she's done a lot of work on breast reconstructions and mastectomies.I know it's not the same thing, but at least she has experience with scarring and all that."

"That's a pretty big deal, too, because scars aren't like regular skin.Have you met with her or even talked to her about if she'd be willing to do it?"

Lexa nods, unable to keep the smile from curling up the corners of her lips slightly."Yeah, I had a consultation with her at her shop, then we met for lunch yesterday."

"Lunch, huh?That sounds like a little more than a tattoo meeting," Cat teases, poking Lexa in the arm.

Lexa lifts her right hand and moves the fingers into one of her custom positions - the middle finger fully extended while all the others curl in.

"Promises, promises," Cat retorts with a wink, holding her mug up in a type of salute.

Lexa scoffs and rolls her eyes."She's very gifted.She came up with half a dozen designs, and every single one of them was amazing.She even did research into my last name, of all things. Who would even think to do that?"

"Sounds like she's interested to me."

Lexa's cheeks pink slightly."She's just very thorough."

"If you say so, Sergeant."

"I say so."

"Uh huh."

"Shut up."

Cat laughs and drains the rest of her coffee, standing up to pour herself another cup of the sludge. "Other than the logistics of actually doing it, have you thought about what you'll do about your prosthetics while it's healing?" she asks as she dumps a hefty amount of creamer into the steaming mug, absently stirring it.

"That's one of the things I wanted to get your input on. I know they make those silicone dressings that are supposed to be good for stuff like that, right? I figured as long as the skin is clean and protected, I should be able to wear them if I want."

"Clearly you've done your research, and you've given it some thought.As long as you pay close attention to the healing and oozing, and make damn sure you see your doctor if it gets even a little bit hot or pink, I don't see it being a problem from a medical standpoint. But, I’m your occupational therapist, not your physician or surgeon. You really need to clear it with them, too."Cat takes a sip of her coffee and makes a face, pouring some more sugar into it."On a more personal note, though, what made you think of doing it?"

Lexa rubs her finger over a small chip in the rim of her mug, picking at it slightly with her nail.The silence stretches, not uncomfortably, and she finally sighs, looking up. "I think I'm about as far as I can be with it.It's not perfect, but I'm not mourning it anymore.This is kind of my way of honoring it?Does that make sense?That sounds ridiculous," she says and looks away, embarrassed.

"It doesn't," Cat reassures."Everybody has to come to grips with their injury at some point, and that takes a hell of a lot more than just saying, ‘yeah, my leg is gone.’ If getting it tattooed helps you accept it, I say go for it. With the caveat, obviously, that your physical health is just as important as your emotional health."

“Worst case scenario, I have to go without my arms for a couple of weeks, right?” 

“True, but let’s not do that unless it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t want you to get out of the habit of wearing them. It could actually reverse some of the progress you’ve made with how well you use them. I’ll be looking at it pretty much every day anyway, so I can help you keep an eye on it,” Cat adds, taking a long draw from her mug then letting out an overly dramatic, satisfied sigh at the end. 

“All right, that’s a deal. I figure it’s going to be a fairly long process, anyway, with any touch ups and everything that will need to be done. We haven’t talked details yet, she wanted me to talk to my medical team first.” 

Cat raises her mug in salute. “I like this girl already. What did you say her name is?” 

“I didn’t say, but it’s Skye.” 

“Oooo, a chick with a dude’s name. Always sexy.” 

Lexa laughs and shakes her head. “You have the most active libido out of anyone I’ve ever met.” 

“Well, when you’re this hot, it’s just part of the territory,” Cat says, flipping her brown pony tail over her shoulder. 

“Good god, you’re trouble,” Lexa says, draining the rest of her coffee cup. 

“Damn straight. Well, not straight, but you know what I’m saying,” Cat says with a wink, grabbing Lexa’s empty cup to take it with hers to the sink where she quickly hand washes them. Once they’re clean, she flips them upside down to dry in the dish drainer. 

“You about ready to get your shit together? We’re hitting the firing simulator today.” 

Lexa lets her head fall back, and she stares at the ceiling and groans. 

“Don’t be such a fucking baby. You’re embarrassing me by not being able to at least wear your marksmanship badge. Move your ass, Amundsen,” Cat says, tugging Lexa’s curly pony tail. “We’ll make a Marine out of you yet!”

Lexa sat down in front of her computer and pulled up her email. She quickly deleted the majority of it as spam or other messages that she didn’t have any interest in, including several messages from amputee devotees that had found her online. She wasn’t even sure how they came across her information, but ever since she’d become a bit more active online after coming back from her last tour, they seemed to flock to her. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to have found some of her more personal social network profiles. It was bad enough that they emailed her constantly. 

Some of the messages were fine, if a little bit strange and somewhat invasive, but others were downright disturbing. She had started to recognize different people by their email addresses, and when she had to block certain ones, she’d gotten good at recognizing the tone and idiolect used in the messages. Glad for her human intelligence training, she found that it came in handy in identifying individuals and helping her distance herself from some of the more disturbing messages. 

An automated message from tumblr made her pause. ‘(Skye’sUserName) is now following you. Whee!’ She didn’t know the url, but she certainly had her suspicions. Clicking on the profile link, she leaned closer to her computer screen as she scrolled through the posts. There was a nice variety of topics from posts about her favorite television shows and artists to pictures of tattoos she’d done and reblogged rants about the newest, shitty ‘upgrade’ the site had made. She felt her cheeks burn when she scrolled down and saw a very tasteful picture of two naked women in an intimate embrace, their open mouths touching as if the picture was snapped the instant before they pressed together in a passionate kiss. 

Her mouse hovered over the tiny heart in the bottom corner, her index finger jerking to click it without her express permission. The little heart turned red and floated a bit above itself before it settled back down into place. “Shit!” Lexa spat out suddenly, her heart jumping up into her throat. If she clicked it again, it would go back to its default gray, but the owner of the blog would still get a notification that she had, indeed, liked the post. 

Before she could do anything even more embarrassing, she closed out of the window, rubbing her hand over her face as she leaned back in her chair. Since their lunch, Lexa couldn’t stop thinking about Skye. She tried to convince herself it was because Skye was talented and caring, and she was just thinking about her tattoo more and more. Unfortunately, when she lay in bed in the dark, with everything peaceful and quiet except for the white noise from the fan at the foot of her bed, it wasn’t Skye’s tattoos that popped into her mind. It was the color of her eyes, the dimple in her chin, the slope of her nose, the gradients of blonde in her hair, the freckle above the left side of her lips. 

Picking her phone up off the desk, she scrolled through her text messages, skipping over a few from Anya, and clicking into the conversation she’d been having with Skye. There was nothing particularly special about any of their messages back and forth. The majority of them had to do with her tattoo in some way or another, but there were enough just random ones that it made her stomach flip flop. 

I saw this picture and thought of you! Skye had sent, followed by a picture of a (cute animal) with a bandaged arm. 

Very funny. I’m no where near that fuzzy.

I haven’t seen enough of you to know for sure! (wink emoji)

Oh no, you've discovered my secret. I'm really an undercover yeti.

That would explain your appetite.

It's not my fault you couldn't finish that cookie. I'm pretty sure it's illegal to throw away a delicious, crispy on the outside, chewy on the inside chocolate chip cookie.

I suppose I should be thanking you, then, for saving me from a life of crime.

You're welcome.

Most of their messages had the same tone. It felt like it was somewhere between flirting and banter, but it was nice no matter how it was categorized. She found it hard to decipher if Skye was actually flirting with her, or if that was just her personality. Considering she hadn't really seen her around anyone other than Kennedy for a few minutes, she had no way to gauge. Maybe she should just suck it up and ask her on a date. But not a date date, no romcom movie and candle lit dinner. Maybe something more casual, platonic even. Perhaps a shooting range or brunch. Or maybe a shooting range after brunch.

The phone bounced on her desk with a clatter, and Lexa huffed loudly. She had no idea how to do this anymore. Before it had been like shooting fish in a barrel. She could bat her eyes, flex her arms, or simply drop some Marine Corps jargon and panties were practically thrown at her. There was a long list of one night stands that sometimes turned into something more, and the occasional, actual relationship. She hadn't dared go anywhere near something like that, though, since her last girlfriend broke up with her while she was deployed. Lexa didn't blame her, though. Long distance relationships were a nightmare, and when every single day held the possibility that half of that relationship could evaporate like ice in the desert, well, that was unbearable for a lot of people.

In some ways, Lexa had been glad that the breakup had happened a few months before her injury. When she returned state side, she didn't have anyone or anything to worry about other than getting better. She had written a handful of letters to her ex in the few weeks immediately following her injury, the tone varying degrees of 'please come back' and 'fuck you' and 'you were right.' None of them were ever sent, though, and Lexa was thankful for that. The last thing she ever would have wanted was to be someone's pity fuck, so a pity relationship sounded worse than torture.

That left her where she found herself, though, with her confidence shaken, her swagger dissolved, and her interest being piqued for the first time in longer than she'd have liked to have admitted. And Skye...

Skye.

Lexa leaned her chair back and stared at the ceiling, the sole of her foot propped on the edge of the desk to gently rock her back and forth in a slightly haphazard manner. Skye was something else.  
Skye made her actually consider going on a date, or at least entertain the idea of the possibility of going on a date.

The thought was both terrifying and thrilling all at once. She wasn't even completely sure that Skye liked girls, though the ease with which she flirted made it a good possibility.

Opening her text conversation with Anya, she punched out a quick message.

I'm hopeless.

I could have told you that, came the quick reply. Is there any specific area you're whining about right now?

Girls.

Oh god, not this again. Who is she, and how badly are you swooning?

A tattoo artist I've been talking to about a new piece.

You didn't answer my second question. 

I don't swoon.

You are the swooniest swooner to ever swoon.

Suck my dick, Singh.

Been there, done that, we're just friends.

Oh my god, seriously?

Hey, you're the one who brought it up. Seriously, though, what's got you all tied up in knots?

She's just... There was a good three minute pause before Lexa completed the message. She's seriously beautiful. She's soft and curvy and gorgeous and has this little freckle above her lip and a dimple in her chin and her eyes are like the sky at dawn in the desert.

Oh shit, you're waxing poetic. You're in deep already.

Hence why I'm hopeless.

So, are you actually thinking about asking her out? Before you get all defensive, I think it's a really good idea. It's time, you know? After... well, after everything, you deserve to try to find a little happiness. We all do.

Maybe. I don't know. She is a military brat, though, so she might actually get the life, you know?

That's pretty important, but it's not the be all end all.

No, it's not, but still. If I was getting out, I probably wouldn't even think about it, but if I do this again... I can't deal with something like a repeat of Cassidy.

That was a bunch of bullshit, and you know it. Even fucking Murphy deserves better than to be broken up with when deployed, and that fuckface deserves everything he gets.

Umm, thanks, I think?

You're welcome. Aren't you getting a little bit ahead of yourself, though? I'm assuming you haven't been on a date yet, and you're already thinking about a relationship while deployed?

No, not a date. Well, not officially. We had lunch, but I don't think it was a date. I'm honestly not sure.

LOL! You seriously are hopeless. Just ask her out. Make it something simple like paintball or some shit, something so you don't have to fill the awkward silences.

You're just trying to get me to learn to shoot lefty.

Maybe so, it's still a badass date idea.

Holy shit, Anya, the last thing I need is for her to out shoot me on the first date! I'd never be able to show her my face again.

Just because you were an expert marksman once upon a time doesn't mean that you can't let her win.

Maybe not, but my pride won't let me let her win. Plus, she'd totally know.

So, be on the same team then, dumbass.

That's actually not a bad idea.

Of course it's not, it was my idea.

Why did I text you again?

Because you love me, and I'm awesome.

God, I hate you.

Text me after you've asked her.

Goodbye, Anya.

Lexa tossed her phone back on the desk and laughed to herself. Anya never failed to infuriate her, but Anya always gave good advice, too. She trusted Anya like a sister, perhaps even more than a sister. They'd been to hell and back together and somehow managed to live to tell the tale. It was the kind of bond that didn't break.

It had been (number) days since Lexa had last talked to Skye, but she hadn’t stopped thinking about Skye for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Thumbing her phone, she looked back at her conversation with Anya, huffing slightly and rolling her eyes even though there was no one there to appreciate the gesture. Maybe her friend was right; maybe she should just suck it up and ask Skye out. The worst thing she could say was no, right? 

It wasn’t really the no that scared Lexa, it was the possible reason behind it. If Skye wasn’t interested in girls, or even just not interested in her, that was completely understandable. The last thing she wanted was a pity date. If the no was because of her arm, though… That was what worried her. It probably shouldn’t, would she really want to date someone that shallow?, but it still bothered her. She wondered if it was because she was still in the process of figuring out all the nuances of her life and how everything fit together. 

At the same time, what little she knew about Skye didn’t seem to lend itself to that being very possible. Skye seemed to be open and kind, witty and talented, sarcastic but not mean. In short, Skye seemed like a challenge, and that was one thing Lexa thrived on. 

“Shit!” Lexa startled, fumbling the phone that had suddenly began vibrating in her hand, trying to both not drop it and answer it without seeming like she’d nearly dropped it. By the second ring, she’d righted the device in her hand, feeling her heart skip as she saw the name Skye emblazoned across the screen. She quickly slid her thumb to answer the call before it got dropped to voice mail, barely catching it. “Hello?” 

“Hey, Lexa, it’s Skye.” 

“I know, you programmed your number into my phone.” 

“Oh, right, yeah, I did do that. So, um, what are you up to?” she asked, seemingly searching for something to say. 

Lexa would have thought it odd to call someone and then not know what to say if she hadn’t just been agonizing over calling Skye herself. Deciding to go with honesty, she smiled slightly, her voice taking a slightly softer and higher tone. “Thinking about you, truthfully.” 

Skye was silent for a few seconds, her breath holding back even its sound. “Is that so?” she finally answered, her husky voice making a little chill skitter down Lexa’s spine. 

“It is.” 

“And what, exactly, was it that you were thinking about me about? Wait, did that make sense? Is that a sentence? About me about?” 

Lexa laughed slightly at the random tangent Skye had found herself in. “It works for me, but I’m just a jarhead.” 

“I still say your head is very much not jar shaped.” 

“My favorite word is oo-rah.” 

“Are you sure that’s only one word?” 

The question made Lexa pause this time, and she tilted her head to the side slightly as if the answer would somehow roll out of her ear. “Honestly, I have no idea,” she admitted with a laugh. 

“You still didn’t tell me what you were thinking about.” 

Lexa’s stomach did a not unpleasant flip flop as Skye directed their conversation back to where she wanted it. “What do I get if I tell you? I could sell the stuff in my brain for at least fifteen cents.” 

“Hmmm, I suppose that depends on what you were actually thinking about. I’m already hooking you up with the most badass tattoo you’ve ever seen,” Skye teased. 

The corner of Lexa’s mouth pulled up for a moment. “I can’t really argue with that,” she admitted. “What if I was to tell you that I was thinking of asking someone out?” 

“You’re awesome and hot and a Marine, anyone would be insane to turn you down.” 

“Is that so?” 

“It is. But, Lexa, why would you be thinking about me and about asking someone out?” Skye prompted, and Lexa could hear the teasing in her tone and could easily visualize the little glint in her eyes. 

“You might know them. Perhaps you could give me a bit of advice on how to approach it?” 

“The best advice I can give you is to never take advice.” 

“Then how can I take your advice to not take advice?” 

Skye’s laugh made the back of Lexa’s neck tingle. “Touche.” 

Lexa grinned. Skye’s laugh was quickly becoming one of her favorite sounds, and she barely knew Skye. 

“I guess I’d say take the direct approach,” Skye added after a short pause. 

“So, just say, ‘will you go out with me?’, just like that?” 

“Exactly like that,” Skye answered, her voice slightly softer and a bit breathless. 

“Will you go out with me?” Lexa repeated, her heart in her throat and her stomach so tight she was fairly certain she could have bounced a quarter off of it. 

“Right, just like that, right to the point.” 

“Will you go out with me?” Lexa tried again, emphasizing that Skye was the person the question was directed towards. 

“Oh, shit, you, uh, you really mean me?” Skye stammered. 

“Yes, Skye.” 

“Yes, Lexa.” 

“Yes, Lexa, what?” Lexa clarified nervously. 

Skye’s bright laughter cut over the phone connection as if Skye was standing right beside Lexa. “Yes, Lexa, I will go out with you.” 

“Oh thank fuck,” Lexa breathed, feeling the heat in her cheeks radiating powerfully, and she was glad she wasn’t face to face with Skye. “Shit, I mean, sorry. I have a mouth like a, well, I would say sailor, but they’ve got nothing on us.” 

“Oh, please. Trust me, I can hang with the worst of you. Mom was afraid my first word was going to be (navyjargoncuss).”

Lexa chuckled at that. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind and not plan anything around small children.” 

“What? You ask me out and don’t even have a date set yet?” Skye teased sarcastically. 

“Well, I didn’t want to get my hopes up or have to cancel a reservation or anything.” 

“Lexa.” 

“Skye.” 

“You’re gorgeous. I meant it when I said anyone would be nuts to not want to spend time with you.” 

“Gorgeous might be a bit of an overstatement,” Lexa deadpanned, her tone flat. 

“It’s more of an understatement, if you ask me. But even if it was, you’re interesting which is way more important than hot any day of the week. Well, at least you’re interesting so far. If I find out about your lepidoptery collection, I may have to rescind that statement.”

“I don’t even know what that means, Skye.” 

“Butterfly and moth collection.” 

“Oh, hell no. I watched Silence of the Lambs when I was a kid and have been creeped out by people who do that ever since. Seriously, I can’t imagine someone who would so pristinely display the beautiful, delicate wings of a butterfly or both and literally just skewer them with a big ass straight pin. They’d have to be a serial killer, or at the very least a wack job.” 

Skye laughed at Lexa’s explanation, nodding to herself. “I absolutely get that. I love that movie, but it’s creepy as fuck.” 

“No watching Silence of the Lambs on our first date. Noted.” 

“And here I thought it was our second date,” Skye’s teasing tone made Lexa’s skin tingle. 

“I, uh, what?” 

“We had lunch, remember? I even paid.” 

“I wasn’t sure if that was a date or not.” 

“Did you want it to be a date?” 

“I… I’m not sure. I think I’m glad I didn’t know so I wasn’t too nervous and knocking shit over like a trainee.” 

“Looking back on it now, do you want it to have been a date?” Skye asked, her voice a bit lower and slower. 

“I think I’d like that,” Lexa said, licking her suddenly dry lips. 

“Then on to our second date!” 

Lexa smiled and thought about Anya’s suggestion of playing paint ball. “How are you with a rifle?” 

“That is kind of random. I can hold my own. Since there were always firearms in our house, it was important that I knew how to handle them safely and how to discharge them properly.” 

“Great. What does your schedule look like?” Lexa asked, clicking over to the open tab of the local paint ball range that she’d been looking at, purely out of curiosity, since texting with Anya about it. 

“As much as I’d love to go out on a normal date night like Friday or Saturday, those are my best money making times. So, really, any time during the morning or afternoon, just let me know ahead of time so I can shuffle people around, or any other night. Sundays and Tuesdays are actually our slowest nights for walk ins.” 

“Yeah, of course, I don’t want to cut into your cash flow,” Lexa agreed easily. “How does your Tuesday afternoon and early evening look?” she asked, clicking on the session times. 

“Hold on, let me check my calendar, it’s on my phone.” 

Lexa could hear soft presses of Skye’s fingers against the screen as she clicked and scrolled through menus. 

“That’s actually really good. I don’t have any appointments until eight that evening. What should I wear?” 

Lexa smiled and clicked on the ‘Reserve Your Spot Now!’ to sign them up for a pick up team. “Something comfortable and rugged, and you might want to wear layers. If you’ve got any boots, I’d suggest that, too.” 

“And here I thought you’d want to get me into something skimpy,” Skye teased. 

“I’m a gentlewoman. I try to wait at least until the third date that I know is an actual date,” Lexa teased back, glad Skye couldn’t see the pinking of her cheeks and ears. 

Lexa could hear Skye hold her breath and was pretty sure Skye had licked her lips. “Good to know,” she said after a couple of moments of silence. 

“So, um, I’ll see you Tuesday? Do you want me to pick you up from the shop?” 

“Lexa, we’re going on a date, not having a consultation. Write this down,” Skye instructed, rattling off her address. 

Lexa’s smile made her cheeks a bit tense. It felt nice. “Sounds good. Is it okay to pick you up at 1400?” 

“I’m looking forward to it. I’ll talk to you soon, Lexa.” 

“I am, too. Talk to you soon, Skye.” 

When the line went dead, Lexa jumped up from her chair, punching her right arm into the air. 

Now, if only she could figure out what to do once they were finished mock killing people. 

Lexa pulled up in front of Skye’s apartment, checking herself in the mirror for the zillionth time in the past hour. She didn’t know why she was bothering; they would soon be wearing goggles, protective head gear, arm and leg pads, and who knew what else to protect them from the slight possibility of actually getting injured by a paint ball. Her long hair was pulled back into a high pony tail. She would have preferred a French braid, but that was no longer even a remote possibility for her to do herself. She had put on a bit of eyeliner, but no other make up. Depending on how into it Skye was, she might do some full on war paint. She tapped her fingernail against the small tin of black face paint in her pocket to double check that it was there. 

Smoothing her hand over her hair one last time, even though she knew it was hopeless to try to contain the shorter hair that curled in wisps around her hairline, she pushed herself out of the car and made her way to Skye's door. Stretching her neck a bit, she flexed her shoulders, opening and closing the hook on her body powered prosthetic that she had to wear any time she'd be doing anything rugged or dirty. She knew Skye hadn't seen it yet, but hoped it wouldn't be an issue. Deep down, she was pretty sure it wouldn't be or else she would have come up with a different type of activity for their date, but it was still something she was somewhat insecure about. She lifted her hook to tap on the door, shifting from one foot to the other as she waited.

The door opened, and she smiled as Skye stood in front of her wearing jeans that hugged her curves and a flannel shirt that was opened to reveal a fitted tank top. "Hey," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up. "You look great."

"Hey yourself," Skye answered, taking in Lexa's baggy jeans and Semper Fi t-shirt. "So do you. Those jeans are seriously working for you. Do you want to come in?"

Lexa smiled, ducking her head slightly as she felt her cheeks heat up even more. "Thanks, but we should go if we don't want to be late," she said and held her elbow out for Skye to take.

"Maybe later, then," Skye said as she slipped her arm through Lexa's and allowed herself to be led to the car. She grinned and thanked Lexa softly as the door was held open for her before Lexa went around to the driver's side. "So, do I get any clues about where we're going?"

Lexa reached through the steering wheel to start the car and grinned over at Skye. "Well, do you really want to know?"

"Hmmm, good point. Will I enjoy it more if it's a surprise?"

"Probably not. I'll tell you if you want to know."

"I'm terrible at waiting. I hate spoilers for books and tv shows and stuff, but I'm definitely an instant gratification girl."

"Is that so?" Lexa asked with a grin, arching an eyebrow at Skye.

Skye laughed and nodded her head with a sassy grin. "It most certainly is," she said and waggled her eyebrows playfully.

"You're too much, Skye Hamilton."

"And here I thought I was just enough."

Lexa chuckled, feeling her cheeks pink. She'd never met anyone that could make her blush like Skye could with so little effort. "That's yet to be seen," she teased back.

"I'll do my best not to disappoint, then."

"I don't think it's possible."

"You're sweet."

"If you say so. You're probably the only person who would say that."

"You gonna tell me, or are you trying to distract me until we get there?"

"Is it working?" Lexa asked with a grin.

"Not so much."

"We're going to play a game of pick up paint ball."

"Hell yes! It's been forever since I've played. I hope we're going to be on the same team so I don't have to embarrass you," Skye said with a wink.

"Oh, that's how it is, is it?"

"It definitely is."

Lexa's smile got even wider. Skye's obvious competitive streak was incredibly attractive, and she was really glad that she'd taken Anya's advice. She still didn't know how good of a shot she was going to be left handed, but the point was to have fun and get to know each other better.  
She pulled into the parking lot and pulled the tin of grease out of her pocket. "How do you feel about war paint?" she asked with a grin.

"I feel like this is going to be the best first but technically second date ever," Skye said, taking the tin from Lexa and opening it and starting to apply the black around her eyes, spreading it out to her temples and across her nose, then dipping back beneath her eyes with a sharp line that angled toward her mouth.

Lexa sucked softly on her bottom lip as she watched Skye apply the make up across her face. She hadn't thought that Skye could have gotten more attractive, but she was quickly finding out that Skye always seemed to somehow surprise her. Accepting the small tin back, she went to work on her own face, blacking out around her eyes and spreading it down her cheeks in three thin, jagged streaks. Like Skye, she spread it out past her eyes, angling it up slightly and working it outward until it disappeared into her hairline.

"That's hot," Skye said softly, her husky voice taking a slight edge. "Your eyes are so green with that on," she said as she licked her lips.

Lexa grinned, feeling a bit of her old confidence seeping in. "You, too. I like your design. It really makes your eyes pop even more than usual."

"Sounds like we may not even have to use our rifles; we can just intimidate our competitors into submission with our sexy badassery."  
Lexa laughed and tucked the small tin of face paint back into her pocket. "I think we're ready, let's go," she said, then slid out of the car. She walked around to the front of the car to wait for Skye to join her. They walked together, their arms bumping but their hands not linking, not yet, and she opened the door to the building for Skye. She liked the way Skye smiled almost shyly when she did that.  
They approached the counter and the teenage boy behind it greeted them cheerfully. The plastic name tag pinned crookedly to his shirt read Monty. "Good afternoon! What can I do for the pair of you?"

"I have a pick up game reservation for two under Amundsen," Lexa replied.

"Yep, I've got you here. All day play, two paintball markers, 2,000 paintballs, and two full sets of gear. Have you shot a rifle before?" Monty asked, busy with his computer and not really paying much attention to Lexa and Skye.

Lexa glanced at her t-shirt then looked at Skye with an arched eyebrow. Skye laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hand. "Yes, we have a bit of experience with that," she answered dryly.

When he looked up and actually took in their appearance, the laughter on Skye's face and the incredulity on Lexa's, his cheeks tinged pink. "We just always have to ask when people don't bring their own gear," he mumbled. "It is a little different from a regular rifle, but the concept is the same. Just, you know, instead of an explosion, it's just compressed air that propels the paintballs."

Lexa nodded her head once, giving the boy a slight smile. She knew he was just doing his job.

"Okay, so we've got head gear, elbow pads, knee pads, gloves, and chest protection. Would you like to try these out and see if they fit properly?" he asked, setting each of the items on the counter.

"I didn't know what you'd want to wear. You don't have to wear any of it if you don't want to," Lexa said.

"Except the head gear," Monty interjected.

"Except the head gear," Lexa repeated with a smile. The head gear consisted of a pair of large goggles with ventilated, padded plastic that covered the nose, mouth, and stretched around the side to cover the ears as well. It was all held on by a thick, elastic strap that slipped over the back of the wearer's head.

"Are you kidding? I'll definitely wear everything. I'm not afraid of a little pain, but I don't feel like taking a stray paintball to the kneecap and not being able to walk for the next three days," Skye said as she picked up the knee pads first, fitting them over her jeans, then slipped out of her flannel to slide the elbow pads up her arms.  
The tank top she was wearing was nicely fitted and Lexa swallowed at the image. Testing out the fit of the pads, she nodded and folded her flannel in a haphazard square, not bothering to slip it back on. Next, she slipped the chest protector on, adjusting her breasts behind it so they weren't uncomfortably squished. "Gotta protect the girls, right?" she said with a wink. Lastly, she picked up one of the head gears and slipped it on, the black around her eyes making the blue of them stand out even more behind the goggles. She fiddled with the strap to customize the size then slipped it back off over her head. "I'm good to go. You going to try your stuff?" she asked Lexa as she pulled on the padded, fingerless gloves.

"I, yeah, um, yes," Lexa stammered slightly, having been caught watching just a bit too intensely. She pulled her baggy jeans up, sliding the knee pads directly up over her leg and lowering the denim over them. Next, she pulled on her right elbow pad, making sure it didn't interfere with the operation of her prosthesis before struggling with the left one. The hook kept slipping off the slick material as she tried to pull it into place; the angle just wasn't right to do it. Biting her tongue, she messed with it for a couple of minutes before her frustration got the best of her and she huffed out a frustrated breath. She looked between Skye and the boy. He looked like he was extremely interested in something behind the counter, but Skye was just waiting patiently. She didn't seem annoyed or even interested that Lexa was having trouble. It was that nonjudgmental and nonpittying attitude that allowed Lexa to ask for her help. "Hey, do you mind giving me a hand? It seems that I've only got one," she said with a straight face.  
"You're terrible," Skye said but laughed, reaching over to pull the elbow pad into place, adjusting it a bit until Lexa nodded. "I don't know how well this is going to work for you," she said, indicating the chest protector.

Looking at how it buckled on the back, Lexa agreed. "Yeah, I won't be able to move this with it on. I guess I'll just have to dodge well enough that I don't get hit in the boob," she said with a wry grin.

"There is a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. It would be a pity to damage yours," Skye recited with a devious grin.

"And here I thought I'd be the Dread Pirate Roberts," Lexa teased back, lifting her right arm, even as her ears burned.

"As long as you don't call me Buttercup," Skye bantered, handing her the head gear for her to try on. Once Lexa had it adjusted, she handed her the remaining left glove, pushing the right one back to the boy behind the counter. "I don't think we'll need this, either."

"You can't, um, just rent one," he said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

"Feel free to charge me for it, I just don't have anywhere to put it."

"We do have lockers for your belongings," he suggested.

Skye rolled her eyes and took the glove back, setting it on top of her semi folded shirt.

The boy gave them a small key to one of the lockers and placed two paintball markers with a large container of paintballs on the counter. "All right, you're all set. Please read the rules before you enter the playing field, and all referee decisions are final. If you have any questions, ask any employee here, we're all wearing these shirts," he said, indicating his fluorescent green t-shirt with the range logo on the front and the word staff in bold block letters on the back. "Have fun!"

Lexa waved at him as they headed to the row of lockers, and she emptied her pockets into the one they were assigned, keeping only the small locker key.

Skye placed her shirt and the extra glove in the locker as well, then filled both of their hoppers with paintballs. She then put the half empty container into the locker. "I figure by the time we need a refill, we'll probably need a break, too."

"Beauty and brains? Be still my heart," Lexa teased though she did agree with Skye's assessment. "Ready to kick some ass?" she asked, holding the barrel of her paintball marker pointing at the floor out of long habit even though there was a brightly colored plug firmly in place in the end of it.

"You know it. Let's show them what a couple of hot chicks can do," Skye replied, a wicked glint in her eyes.

Yeah. This was definitely going to be the best first but technically second date ever.

Lexa and Skye made their way to the playing field after reading the few posted rules. They were pretty self explanatory, no up close shots, no blind shooting, no shooting outside the playing field, head gear must be worn at all times outside of safe zones, barrel plugs must be used any time not on playing field. There were two groups of people gathered at either end of the field, and they made their way over to their prescribed team. 

An extremely tall, built man welcomed them. “Hey, you must be Skye and Lexa. You’re the last two on the roster,” he said, holding out one beefy hand. “I’m Gustus. I’m a regular here so they made me some sort of captain or some shit for the matches today,” he said with a one shouldered shrug. 

“Lexa,” she said, shaking his hand with her hook. She was impressed that he didn’t seem the slightest bit phased by it. She felt the stares from some of the other people on the team, though,and internally sighed, only just resisting rolling her eyes. “This is Skye,” she introduced as Skye leaned forward to shake his hand as well. 

“Nice to meet you both,” he said politely before turning his attention to the group of a dozen people, most of whom were teenage boys, and got down to business. “I’m assuming everyone is literate, so you’ve all read the rules. If you are caught breaking the rules by either me or a ref, you will be ejected from the game. If you take a head shot, you’re out. If you take an upper chest shot, you’re out, if you take a lower chest shot, you have five minutes to play before you’re out. If you take a shot to the limb, that limb is rendered useless for pretty much anything other than hobbling or flopping around. The game goes until one of the flags is captured and returned to the home base or all players on one side are eliminated which will let someone capture the flag and return it to the home base. After each game, we’ll take a break, the length of which will depend on how long the game went. If you have any questions or any problems during the game, go to one of the sidelines and wait for a referee or captain to help you. Any questions before we start?” The chorus of shaking heads that met his look seemed satisfactory enough, and Gustus stuck one hand out in the middle of the haphazard circle. “Let’s go on three.” It only took a moment for eleven more hands to join his then bounce up with an awkward chorus of ‘let’s go.’ 

The group fanned out, taking their starting positions. Lexa and Skye stood together behind one of the stacks of huge tractor tires. Lexa tugged the barrel plug from her marker and tucked it into her pocket, checking to make sure the safety was off. She grinned at Skye as Skye did the same, holding the barrel of her marker up beside her head. “You ready for this?” Lexa asked with a smile. She could feel the adrenaline building in her veins, the anticipation coiling her muscles tight in a pleasant way. 

“Hell yes. In case I forget to say it later, I had an awesome time,” Skye replied with a devious grin. 

Lexa laughed and nudged Skye’s shoulder with her own, turning to look up and over the stack of tires they were behind. “I did, too,” she said just as the whistle blew to signal the beginning of the match, a few random pop pop pops hitting various barricades as people eagerly fired off the first shots. She held her marker in her left hand, the weight easy to support with just the one arm, but she instinctively reached out with her right to brace the barrel and make it more stable. She couldn’t figure out how to grip the barrel at first, though, and mentally cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner. It only took her a few moments to figure out how her hook needed to be rotated so she could hold the barrel between the two sides of her hook, but several of the other players had already begun to advance at that point. Looking to Skye who was still at her side, she nodded once before leaning around the side of the tires, firing off several shots at the opposing team. She clamped down on a laugh that bubbled up in her throat as bright green splattered across the face mask of a player who was trying to run between barricades, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself and her location. 

Skye clearly had a different philosophy when it came to fighting as she laughed and whooped. “Hell yeah! Nice shot, Lex!” she shouted, peppering the other side with a hail of paintballs. “Cover me!” she yelled as she took off running toward a metal, fifty gallon drum, ducking behind it with paintballs splattering the ground right behind her feet. 

“Mother fu-,” Lexa muttered, trying to belatedly spray the area in front of Skye with as many shots as she could. Even as she shook her head at Skye’s carelessness, the laughter that was bubbling up from Skye’s chest and the flutter in her own were enough to make her smile. It was just a game, after all. Deciding Skye had the right idea, Lexa quickly stood up, letting her head and shoulders be visible over the top of the tires as she shot toward the opposite side before darting past Skye to crouch behind a tower of sorts. There was a ladder built into the back of it, and she didn’t hesitate before quickly and carefully making her way toward the top. There was only a single piece of plywood that gave cover when she reached the top of the ladder, and she had to slide in behind it on her belly to keep from being overly exposed. 

“Yes!” Skye cheered, seeing Lexa’s new vantage point, and she popped up over the top of the barrel and fired off a dozen shots, catching a player in the calf as they tried to sprint between cover. “You guys are toast!” she called, taunting the other side. 

Lexa carefully lifted up on her knees, leaning her hook on the board beneath her to keep her steady as her left arm raised her barrel over the top. She peeked her head up only as much as she needed to to get a good look at what was below, several paintballs splattering the board in front of her or whizzing up over her head. They hadn’t gotten the angle quite right to hit her, yet. From her point of view, though, she could see over the top of several of the cover pieces and started calling out the location of the other players while peppering them with shots from above. It took her a few rounds to get the angle right, but after only a few moments, she’d hit three of the other team in the top of the head or shoulder. 

Her side wasn’t without casualties, though, as she watched the small groups gathered on the sidelines get marginally bigger every few minutes. Several paintballs got too close for Lexa’s comfort, and she made her way back down the ladder. It had been a good position until they had figured out how to exploit it. Looking around her side she could see that there was only Gustus, Skye, and a boy whose name she didn’t know still in play with her. The other side still had five players left when she’d climbed down from the tower. Taking advantage of a short lull in the spattering of paintballs near her, she ran to Skye’s location, ducking behind the barrel with Skye in front of her. “Hey there,” she said with a wolfish grin. 

“Hey, yourself,” Skye replied, her expression much the same. 

“So, we need to get that flag,” Lexa said, Skye nodding in agreement. “I have a really dumb idea.” 

“I love dumb ideas.” 

“Use me as a shield.” 

“What! No way. I take back what I said about dumb ideas.” 

“Seriously, look at it this way, we can probably get at least halfway there before they take me out. You’re quick and they’ll be surprised that we’re just running right at them. Then you’ll be able to duck behind some cover and work your way forward. You can either work on taking them out or just get straight to the flag and make your way back. With so few of us left, someone has to get the flag to win.” 

“You’re crazy. What makes you think we’ll make it that far? Just the element of surprise?” Skye asked, half her attention on firing toward the other side as she kept her arms tucked in beside her to keep them from getting hit by a stray paintball. 

“Mostly that, but also we’re fast. It’s too crazy for it not to work.” 

Skye licked her lips behind her face mask and then nodded shortly. “You better hope we make it that far, though, or else I’ll kick your paintballed ass.”  
“Sounds like a win win to me,” Lexa teased, her green eyes sparkling behind her goggles. 

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Skye said, rolling her eyes. 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing. Come on, let’s show these kids how it’s done.” 

Lexa peeked around the side of the barrel, her marker in front of her and popping off a few rounds that missed their mark as one of the other players sprinted to a closer barricade. She felt Skye’s hand on the small of her back as Skye readied herself. “On three,” Lexa said softly, then counted out slowly. “One. Two. Three!” She popped out from behind the barrel, spraying a hail of paintballs in front of her in an arc. She could feel Skye’s shoulder pressed tightly up against her back as they moved together, Skye shooting out from the right side to try to offer some cover on that side of them as well. Lexa heard the first paintball hit her rather than felt it as it broke against her prosthesis, covering it in an arc of electric blue. The second one she felt, a lot, as it hit her right in the center of her chest, her sternum aching for a split second before two more hit her on the more sensitive, fleshy part. “Ow, fuck. My fucking tit!” she cried softly, falling dramatically to the side so she no longer helped block Skye, not wanting to be called out as cheating. She watched from her (pronesupine) position, grinning like crazy when Skye safely ducked behind one of the other players barricades. She could hear Gustus and the boy whooping from behind her, and she got up and jogged to the sideline, earning claps on her back and good natured laughter from those on her team who were already waiting there.  
“You’re one crazy mother fucker,” one of the men said, clapping his hand firmly against Lexa’s shoulder, shaking it slightly. 

“Oo-rah!” she answered instinctively, her back straight and proud. 

“I guess the shirt isn’t just for show,” one of the others commented, the respect in his voice evident. 

Lexa laughed and shook her head. “No, sir.” 

“Is your friend out there in the service, too?” the first man asked, his eyes locked on Skye where she was trying to get an even closer position to the opposing team’s flag. 

“No, sir, she’s just naturally amazing,” she said, flushing slightly, glad that her face mask and war paint hid any trace of it. 

“That she is. Think I can get her number?” 

Lexa’s eyes narrowed, and she arched one eyebrow. “Considering we’re on our second date, I’d prefer it if you didn’t ask,” she deadpanned. 

The man’s bushy eyebrows raised in surprise, but he lifted his hands in surrender. “My bad. I didn’t realize.” 

Lexa smiled, punching him in the arm lightly. “That’s for looking at my girl.” 

“Hey, you can’t blame me. She’s hot.” 

“Why do you think I asked her out?” Lexa replied cockily. 

It only took a few more minutes for Skye and one player from the other team to be the only ones left on the field. Everyone was cheering them both on, trash talking the opposing team, and shouting out allegedly helpful suggestions. Lexa could see that both players were trying to decide if it would be more beneficial to just head to the flag and forget about the other or if they should concentrate on taking their enemy out. 

Skye tried several times to simply get around the barriers without bothering shooting, but the opposing player kept peppering paintballs around where she was hiding. Finally, Skye started shooting back. “Fine, if that’s how you want it, that’s how we’ll do it!” she shouted, sending several of her own shots toward the other player’s head. 

After a few minutes of neither player moving and just taking pot shots at each other, one of the referees blew their whistle. “Both players must move within five seconds or forfeit the game for their team.” The referee held his arm straight out from his shoulder, swinging his hand back and forth between his chest and straight out. 

Skye counted to three, then darted out from her hiding place. The other player seemed to be waiting for five, though, as they were caught off guard at Skye’s paintballs coming in at a different angle than they had been. A startled fuck was heard, and Skye’s laughter rang out over the field. “You might as well give up now, I know I hit you!” she taunted. 

“It is only a flesh wound,” the player called, holding up a green splattered arm. 

“You’ve lost your arm!” Skye replied appropriately. 

“I have not!” 

“Come out and fight me, you yellow belly!” 

“That’s racist!” 

Skye laughed, shaking her head as she quietly made her way around the barricade she was hiding behind. She could barely see the other player crouching behind a stack of wooden crates, their head still facing where Skye was before. “I gave you the chance for an honorable death!” she said as she pulled her trigger repeatedly as fast as her finger would go. 

“Nooooo!” the other player yelled, their head and torso splashed with bright color. 

Lexa threw up her arms and shouted, clapping her hand against her prosthesis loudly, the guys around her joining her with their baritone voices and meaty claps. 

Skye did the same, her paintball marker pointing straight up into the air as she strutted her way to where the flag was kept. She grabbed it, the Velcro holding it in place making a satisfying ripping sound, and did a victory jog back to her side of the field. 

The group ran out to meet her, clapping her back and shoulders roughly, making her stagger just a bit under the weight of their good natured blows. When Lexa approached, she threw her arms around Lexa’s neck, hugging her tightly with Lexa’s arms holding her close. “Told you we’d be badasses. Thanks for being my shield,” she said, looking into green eyes shining brightly from behind the goggles. 

Lexa licked her lips instinctively, her eyes flickering between Skye’s ocean eyes and where her mouth was hidden behind the face mask. The butterflies in her stomach migrated into her chest, and she was almost certain that she would have kissed Skye had she not had to pull off their face masks to do it. “Nice job. You definitely kick ass,” she settled on saying, her voice a bit more husky than usual. “Care to get something to drink?” 

“Absolutely. It’s suddenly very hot out here,” Skye said with a wink as Lexa’s arms loosened their grasp. As she released the hug, she slid her hand down Lexa’s arm, wiggling her fingers slightly until they slid into the spaces between Lexa’s. “Let’s rest for a minute so we can do it again.” 

Lexa thought that was possibly one of the best ideas she’d heard in a long time. 

It was a two hours and four matches later when Lexa and Skye finally ran out of paintballs. They were both sweaty, dirty, splattered with electric blue paint from the opposing team’s paintballs, and had their warpaint smudged from sweat and swipes of their hand to keep the sweat from their eyes. The smiles on their faces were not in the slightest bit dimmed for it. In fact, they looked like they couldn’t think of any other way they wanted to be at the moment. Making their way back to the lockers, they stripped down out of their rented equipment and retrieved their belongings.

“That was so awesome,” Skye said, her straight, white teeth all the brighter for the smudges of dirt and grime and paint smeared across her chin.  
Lexa smiled brightly, carrying their gear back to the counter where they had gotten it. “I can’t disagree,” she teased, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her cool exterior. 

“I guess I didn’t need to worry about thanking you for an awesome date.” 

“Is it over? I thought I should at least feed you after making you work off so much energy,” Lexa replied, suddenly a bit nervous that Skye may be ready to call it a day. 

Skye’s smile grew, and she shook her head. “I didn’t want to assume, but I’d love to be fed, or, um, get something to eat, at least.” 

Monty took the equipment back from the pair then totaled up the fees, smiling a bit at the conversation he wasn’t a part of. He rang them up, and Lexa slid her credit card and military ID across the counter for him. 

“What do you feel like having? I think we should maybe steer clear of anything too fancy,” Lexa said with a grin. 

“You did sort of promise me hot wings and women in tight shirts at one point,” Skye said with a wicked grin. 

Lexa felt her cheeks heat up and was glad for the dirt and black paint spread across them to help conceal it. “I’m sure they’re used to people coming in all sweaty and gross after some sporting event, right?” 

“Now you’re talking. I am definitely feeling some beer and wings.” 

Skye’s hand slipped into Lexa’s again as they made their way to the car, and Lexa opened up the door for Skye once again. Lexa walked around to the driver’s side and joined Skye, fastening her seat belt and starting the car, but not putting it into gear. “There’s some baby wipes in the glove box so we can clean up before we go,” she said, not wanting to assume that Skye was comfortable wearing the face paint outside the paintball field. 

Skye opened the glove box and retrieved the crinkly package. “Do you want to take off your face paint? I think you look sexy in it,” she said honestly.  
One corner of Lexa’s mouth curled up in a cocky grin, and she shrugged. “I’ll only keep mine on if you do, too,” she said. 

“Sounds like a deal. Let’s go. I’m fucking starving.”

Lexa drove them to the restaurant and glanced in the mirror before getting out of the car. “Oh my god, I look like I just stuck my face in a mud puddle,” she complained, trying to rub some of the worst of the dirt from her face while not disturbing her paint. 

Skye chuckled and handed Lexa a baby wipe. “We can have one each, just for the grime,” she explained, flipping down her visor and looking in the mirror there to carefully clean around her forehead, cheeks, nose, lips, and chin. By the time she was finished, she looked nearly the same as she had after first applying the paint. She watched as Lexa carefully wiped down her face as well, using one fingertip to wipe between the jagged lines dripping down her cheeks. “Definitely hot,” she said softly, grinning like the Cheshire cat at the way Lexa’s ears tinged pink. 

“I thought you were fucking starving?” Lexa teased. “Why do you look like you’re going to eat me?” 

The bark of laughter that jumped from between Skye’s lips made Lexa’s ears and face burn dark enough that it could still be detected even with the black paint obscuring much of it. 

“I mean, um, fuck. You know what I meant,” Lexa grumbled, pouting slightly as she pulled the keys from the ignition. 

Skye giggled softly, placing her hand on Lexa’s arm. “I do know what you meant. I just happened to like the innuendo, too,” she said with a wink then slid out of the car to wait for Lexa. 

Lexa took a few moments to catch her breath, mentally chastising herself for her careless words, but she couldn’t feel too terrible about it with the way Skye had laughed. Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself up out of the driver’s seat and circled the car to join Skye. “Now that I know what you’re in the mood to eat, let’s go,” she said, her old, confident nature making a shaky reemergence. 

Skye grinned and walked with Lexa, letting the door be held open for her. The hostess that greeted them was cheerful and attractive, flirting a bit with them as she took them to their table. 

“I have to admit, even if the food sucks, the ambiance makes up for it,” Skye said as she leaned closer to Lexa, not wanting to have to speak too loudly to be heard over the din of mostly male voices. 

“I’m pretty sure no one comes here for the food,” Lexa agreed with a soft laugh. “Anything look good?” she asked as she opened her own menu and glancing over the items there. 

“I was serious about beer and chicken wings. Nothing too too spicy, though. I like my spicy with a little bit of sweet.” 

Lexa swallowed hard, having absolutely no idea if Skye was only talking about her preference in chicken wings. “Good to know,” she said, licking her lips. 

“Hey, ladies!” 

When Lexa looked up to see where the voice had come from, she was greeted by a chipper looking waitress in the typical skin tight tank top - complete with additional slit in the neck to make it plunge even lower, short orange shorts, and tennis shoes. The name tag pinned to the front of her tank top, drawing even more attention to her assets, read Jenny. 

“How are you guys doing today? Looks like you’ve been busy,” she said cheerfully. “What’s with the warpaint?” 

“We just got done playing, and kicking ass at, paintball,” Skye answered. 

“Awesome! I bet you’ve worked up a nice appetite,” Jenny said with a wink, cocking her hip as she put all of her weight on one foot and holding her note pad in front of her. “What can I start you off with? A pitcher of beer? Some potato skins?” she suggested. 

“I’m good with that,” Skye said, looking to Lexa. 

Lexa nodded her head. “Whatever you have imported on draft,” she answered, checking with Skye to make sure that would be okay. 

“Ahh, a woman after my own heart. No pale, American beer here.” 

“You got it. And those skins, right?” Jenny asked, dual nods being her answer. “Awesome. Do you know what else you want to eat?” 

Skye nodded, returning her menu to the holder at the side of the table. “I’ll take the Sweet Heat wings.” 

“Sweet and spicy, just like the pair of you, I’d guess,” Jenny flirted with a wink. 

Lexa arched her eyebrow, not sure what to think about this Jenny. “I’ll have the Mango Habanero wings,” 

“Nice. Those are one of my favorites. Hold tight and I’ll be right back with your beer. Would you like waters, too?” At the pair of nods, Jenny bounced off. 

Skye nudged Lexa’s foot with the toe of her shoe, smiling when Lexa looked at her. “Not used to people flirting with you?” 

“It’s been a while,” Lexa admitted. “I haven’t exactly been dating or anything since I got back.” 

It didn’t escape Skye’s notice that Lexa didn’t refer to the loss of her arm directly. She didn’t even use euphemistic speech like she’d seen many of her clients use. ‘Since my surgery.’ ‘Since the accident.’ ‘Since I got sick.’ They were all commonly used phrases, but Lexa didn’t use anything approximating that. “Why not?” she asked simply, not wanting to assume anything. 

Lexa narrowed her eyes slightly and tilted her head, resembling a confused puppy. She couldn’t tell if Skye was being sarcastic. A brief search of blue eyes showed nothing but sincerity. “I really couldn’t for a while. I mean, I was in the hospital for (howeverlong), and then physical and occupational therapy took up most of my time. After I was out…” she trailed off and shrugged one shoulder. “It’s kind of a long story, but my ex broke up with me only a couple of months into my deployment, almost a year before I came back. Well, I guess it’s not that long of a story. But, I just couldn’t do that again. If I was getting out, maybe, but since I’m trying to ship over…” She trailed off and shook her head. “I thought she knew what she was getting into, but not everyone really gets military life, you know?” 

Skye nodded, tucking away the information. “That totally makes sense. I think people kind of have to experience the whole military thing for themselves. When I was in school off base, the regular kids never really understood why I wasn’t super excited about shit like dances and who was dating whom and the sports team’s win loss record. I think it’s kind of a different world. I mean, I know growing up a military brat is nothing like actually being in, but I can kind of see what you mean.” 

Lexa smiled slightly, liking the way Skye related her own experiences. “You at least have some insight into what it’s about.” 

“A little bit, I don’t claim to know what it’s like on a personal basis. Even with my dad, it’s still not the same as knowing how it feels to be out there in the thick of things. I never knew anything different, so it’s kind of normal for me to spend a lot of relationship time over the phone or the computer. I’m sure there’s a shrink somewhere who would love to pick that apart.” 

“There’s always a shrink somewhere who wants to pick everything apart,” Lexa agreed wryly. That had been, by far, the least favorite part of her treatment. Considering how incredibly painful therapy could be, it really was telling. 

Before anything further could be said on the topic, Jenny returned to their table with a pitcher of beer, two frosted glasses, and two glasses of ice water. They both thanked Jenny, who promised their potato skins would be out shortly. 

The pitcher was sitting closer to Lexa, but she knew she’d make it far too fizzy, or she’d be wearing it, if she poured it. She still hadn’t gotten the hang of angling a glass using her hook yet. “Do you mind?” she asked, sliding the pitcher toward Skye who picked it up and poured two glasses with just a bit of foam at the top. “Nice. You’ll have to teach me that sometime,” Lexa commented, accepting the offered glass. 

“Kennedy has done tons of different, random odd jobs. She was a bar tender for a while before she came to work at the shop. I think she still picks up shifts now and then at one of the bars near her place. She likes sharing her skill set with me as a type of trade for me letting her be my apprentice. Her technique is awesome, it’s mostly just her art that holds her back,” 

“I can’t imagine being able to draw anything more complex than an amoeba.” 

“A real amoeba is surprisingly hard.” 

“Very funny, Skye,” Lexa deadpanned, a tiny grin curving her lips up. 

“What! It is! I’ll show you,” Skye defended, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She did a quick image search and turned her phone around to show Lexa. On the screen was a cloudy looking blob, the texture intriguing with smaller blobs floating in the matrix. 

“I stand corrected,” Lexa admitted with a laugh. “This is why I’m a Marine, not an artist.” 

“I only know because I was as much of a science dork as I was an art dork. Actually, I was much more of a science dork. I was never into all the history and super famous artists and stuff. I mean, yeah, I can absolutely appreciate it and understand the importance of studying it, but I’m more interested in the why and the feeling and the story behind the art than the tedious techniques used. I seriously doubt Leonardo Di Vinci was in any way concerned with imitating other artists before him. He just created.” 

Lexa knew very little about art, but the passion with which Skye talked about it made her insides flutter. “And now you create, too,” she said with a smile.  
Skye ducked her head slightly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and looking up at Lexa through her eyelashes. “I try to create. It’s more of a cooperative endeavor when it comes to tattooing. I still like to paint and sketch in my free time, though.” 

“Yeah? What kind of things do you draw?” 

“Oh god, anything. Whatever I feel like. A lot of times I’ll just have this itch to do something, but I won’t really have a solid idea. Sometimes that’s my favorite. I just get everything out and just start painting. It’s like…” Skye trailed off, her head tilting to the right as her eyes looked up to the left, searching for the best way to explain it. She tugged on her bottom lip slightly, pinching it between her thumb and middle finger. “I don’t know how to explain it,” she finally said. “It’s just like whatever is inside shows up on the canvas in surprising ways. It’s like putting a snippet of who I am on it, a snap shot of what I was feeling and experiencing in those exact moments. It’s very cathartic.” 

“That sounds… intense.” 

Skye nodded, taking a drink of her beer. “It is. I’ve missed phone calls and deliveries and even burned dinner doing that. I learned not to cook anything on the stove or in the oven if I’m going to be painting,” she added with a chuckle. 

“That’s probably a good policy. I’d hate for you to burn your place down because you were in a paint trance.” 

“A paint trance. I’m definitely calling it that from now on. It’s way too accurate not to.” 

They shared a smile, lightly clinking their glasses together. Sitting in companionable silence, they glanced at the various sports programs displayed on the numerous flat screen TVs around the restaurant, all blissfully silent with sometimes garbled captioning skipping across the bottoms of the screens. Jenny appeared shortly after with their potato skins, and they made small talk while they ate them, leaning closer together as the date progressed. 

“You’re left handed,” Lexa said after their wings had arrived. 

Skye nodded and wiped some of the sauce from her lips. “I am, indeed. Supposedly only left handed people are in their right minds,” she teased. 

“I guess I’m just late to the game,” Lexa replied. 

“Have you always been a lefty?” 

Lexa shook her head. “Nuh uh, not at all. There were a few things I could do as well left handed as right handed, I was a switch hitter in softball, but nothing particularly useful on a day to day basis. My writing has always been shit, so it’s just worse now. I’ve mastered the art of one handed typing, though, so yay me,” she said as she rolled her eyes. 

“There’s a lesbian joke in there somewhere,” Skye teased. 

Lexa choked slightly, coughing against the beer that had been sucked into the wrong pipe. “Oh, believe me, I’ve never been that kind of switch hitter,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. 

“Is that so? Good to know.” 

“It is. I don’t have anything against guys, some of my best friends are guys,” Lexa said sarcastically, “I just don’t get the appeal of all… that… business,” she said, making a vague circular motion with her hand, her palm generally aimed at her crotch. 

Skye laughed, sadistically loving the way Lexa would shift uncomfortably in her seat or blush at something Lexa, herself, had said. “Well, that’s not really anything you have to be concerned with with me,” she teased, giving Lexa a wink. 

Lexa opened her mouth to give some sort of witty retort, but nothing came to mind, so she closed her mouth with a soft click of her teeth. “You’re something else, Skye Hamilton.” 

Skye raised her glass and nodded once in a sort of salute. “Right back at you.” 

The rest of their meal passed comfortably, the small talk never feeling too small or forced. Lexa felt really at ease with Skye and was glad Anya had convinced her to ask Skye out. Not that she’d ever admit it to Anya, obviously.

When they left, Lexa drove Skye home, surprised at how late it had gotten without them noticing. She was glad that she’d left a good tip for Jenny since they had taken up so much time at one of her tables. Parking on the street, Lexa got out and walked Skye to her door. “I had a really, really good time with you, Skye,” she said softly. 

“I did, too, Lexa. Definitely the best first but technically second date I’ve ever had,” Skye replied with a grin, shifting a bit closer to Lexa. 

“If it’s all right, I’d like to ask you out again in the future.” 

“If it helps at all, I’ll definitely say yes.” 

Lexa smiled, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners from the width of it. “That definitely helps. Takes the pressure off.” 

“So, um, you said maybe later,” Skye said, licking her lips subconsciously as her eyes flitted down to Lexa’s. 

“Maybe later for what?” Lexa asked, not following Skye’s train of thought. She was pretty distracted by Skye’s lips, as well, so it made sense that her brain wasn’t all together focused. 

“Did you want to come in?” Skye said softly, inching a bit closer to Lexa, her hand reaching out to rest on Lexa’s forearm. 

Lexa’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her skin tingling where Skye was touching her. “I do. I really, really do, but I don’t think I should,” she replied, her tone tinged with regret. 

Skye smiled gently, nodding her head a bit as she lifted her right hand to cup Lexa’s cheek. “I’m not asking for anything more than just that. Come up and meet my dog, see my terrible, second hand couch, watch some Netflix.” 

“You have no idea how tempting it is, Skye, but I think it’s better that we end on a positive note. Always leave them wanting more, right?” Lexa said, not realizing she was actually leaning into Skye’s hand. 

“I understand. You can’t blame me for not wanting this date to end.” 

“I don’t want it to, either. Perhaps next time,” Lexa said, a promise in her eyes. 

Skye smiled and gave Lexa an understanding nod, closing the space between them. Her free hand rested lightly on Lexa’s waist, while Lexa’s hand softly gripped Skye’s wrist at her cheek. Skye’s eyes flitted back and forth between Lexa’s deep green eyes and full lips. When they were so close that she could no longer see Lexa’s lips without moving her head, she closed her eyes and leaned in. 

Lexa felt her heart jack hammering in her chest, certain she was going to crack at least one rib. Her breath caught when she could feel Skye’s exhales ghost across her lips, and she very nearly whimpered as Skye closed the slight gap between them. Skye’s lips were so soft and settled on either side of her bottom lip like they were matching puzzle pieces. The kiss was tender, not demanding, and nearly still. When she felt just the very tip of Skye’s tongue slide across her lip, she very nearly lost her knees, reaching out hard and fast, instinctively, with her unforgiving right arm. It did manage to balance her, but the kiss was awkwardly broken as Lexa’s hook got caught in one of Skye’s belt loops. 

“Fuck! Sorry! Fuck, shit, goddammit, stupid piece of -” Lexa stammered, tugging and pushing on her arm as if she’d never worn it before. Her face was so hot she was fairly certain there was steam coming off of her scalp. 

Skye laughed, but there was no mocking in it as she gripped Lexa’s right arm near her elbow, holding them both steady. “Hey, it’s okay,” she interrupted, her eyes bright and her smile genuine. With neither of them pulling or pushing, the hook slipped easily from Skye’s belt loop. “You didn’t have to do that to make our first kiss memorable,” she teased gently, happiness dancing in her eyes. 

Lexa murmured to herself, looking down so Skye, hopefully, wouldn’t see how embarrassed she was. 

“Look at me,” Skye said firmly. Even though there was no malice in her tone, it offered no room for argument. 

Years in the military caused Lexa’s head to snap up without her conscious consent, her eyes instantly meeting Skye’s. 

“I was just teasing you. What I meant was that kissing you was memorable enough,” Skye explained, though she was reasonably certain it wasn’t necessary. “Can I try it again?” she asked softly. 

Lexa folded her lips into her mouth, holding them in place gently with her teeth. After a moment, she nodded once, her chin jerking down in a terse movement. 

Skye’s smile softened, and she slid the hand on Lexa’s cheek down to her neck before leaning in again, pushing slightly up on her toes to meet Lexa. This time, neither of them faltered, and after a few, stomach fluttering moments, she gently pulled away. “Thank you for the wonderful date, Lexa,” she said, brushing her thumb underneath Lexa’s full bottom lip. 

The corners of Lexa’s mouth turned up in a shy smile, and she nodded. “Thank you, Skye. I’ll talk to you soon,” she said softly, taking a half step back, afraid that if she didn’t, she’d end up joining Skye after all. 

“Yes, you will. You definitely will,” Skye agreed, fishing her key out of her pocket and fitting it into the lock as Lexa hopped down the few steps leading up to her door. 

Lexa turned, hand shoved into the pocket of her jeans, a faint blush still coloring her cheeks and ears. She waited until Skye had the door open, then waved, lifting her right arm. 

Skye returned the wave, grinning from ear to ear, and ducked into her building, pulling the door behind her. 

Lexa had to admit that, all things considered, it had been the perfect first (though technically second) date. 

Lexa barely even recognized how she managed to make it home after dropping Skye off, but somehow, she found herself in front of her door, absent mindedly poking the key at the deadbolt before she was finally able to fit it in. She had been basically walking on air since Skye kissed her, especially when Skye kissed her the second time. Locking the door behind her, she walked over to her couch and flopped down on it, one leg along the back of the cushions while the other foot rested on the floor. She leaned back against the arm of the couch and let her head fall back. 

“That really happened, right?” she asked her empty apartment. “I’m not just dreaming and am going to wake up to find I haven’t even asked her out yet, right? If I don’t stop talking to myself, though, I’m going to have to send myself to a shrink,” she said, shaking her head at herself. She liked living alone, especially after spending so much time packed into barracks and (desert housing), but sometimes she thought she should at least get a pet. Then she could at least pretend she was talking to it instead of herself. 

Digging her phone out of her pocket, Lexa scrolled to Skye’s name in her contacts list. She looked at it for a long time, her thumb hovering just above the entry displayed on the touch screen. Deciding it might be a little over the top, she exited out of that entry and scrolled up to the As.  
Anya! She typed out quickly. There was only a small pause until a reply flashed up. 

What?! Why are you yelling at me? 

I did it. 

Did what? 

I asked her out. We went on a date. I just got back from said date. 

Oh. My. God. Nun Amundsen finally decided to get some? Did you have to knock the cobwebs off your vaj? 

You’re disgusting. 

You didn’t answer. 

You’re worse than Murphy. 

You still didn’t answer. 

Oh my god, Singh, we just kissed! 

Lame. 

Seriously? 

No, not seriously. How did it go? I’m assuming it went well since you kissed. 

It was amazing, honestly. We played paintball then went to Hooters to eat. I walked her up to her door, and she kissed me. I kind of freaked out and nearly stabbed her with my hook, but then she kissed me again. The second one went better. 

Hahahahahaahaaaa! Why am I not surprised that you nearly stabbed her? I’ve been telling you you’re dangerous for years. 

Suck my dick. 

Sounds like you’ve got someone else to do that for you now. (wink emoji) 

Have I mentioned you’re disgusting? 

Maybe once or twice. Before Lexa could send a reply, her phone buzzed again. Seriously though, Lexa, I’m glad it went so well. I’m also glad I won’t have to break her kneecaps. I’ll leave her hands alone since she’s an artist or whatever the shit, but kneecaps are fair game if she fucks with you. 

Roger that. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that, though. She is seriously amazing. I don’t know how I got so lucky that she said yes, but… Ugh, I’m gushing. It’s disgusting. Quick, make me think of something completely inappropriate. 

A pile of puppies eating intestines. 

Oh. Wow. Okay, that’s the first thing you came up with? How’s your psych eval coming? 

Hey, you want inappropriate, I give you inappropriate. I could have reminded you of that fucking mole on Murphy’s ball sack. 

(vomit emoji) Okay, I’ll take the puppies. You’re a twisted fuck, you know that? 

One of my many charms. 

Jesus. How do you get laid? 

You’re assuming that getting laid requires a certain amount of talking. If there are more than twenty words, total, exchanged, I’m moving on. Ain’t nobody got time for that. 

Lexa remembered a time not all that long ago when she was of much the same philosophy. The talking didn’t bother her so much, but the wham, bam, thank you ma’am aspect of it was extremely familiar. Sometimes she wondered if it would be easier to get back on that horse. But since returning stateside, more than just her physical appearance had changed. Life felt fragile, delicate, important in a way it never had before. She didn’t think it could be said that she’d ever had a death wish, but getting that close to death had changed her. There had always been something to live for. For most of her life it had been her mother, and after she had passed, the Corps took over that role. She might have only been a small cog in a fucking huge machine, but every cog mattered. She was still enlisted, of course, and was attached to the Wounded, Injured, and Ill regiment, but it wasn’t the same as gathering intelligence and protecting her brothers and sisters. When she’d started her recovery, there was a lot of talk about whether she wanted to be discharged or wanted to try to remain active duty. The thought of leaving the Corps terrified her. Who would she be if she wasn’t a Marine? What would she do? Could she be satisfied in a civilian job, working nine to five with weekends off? It sounded like an awful lot of free time. 

Her phone buzzed again and she jumped, having gotten lost in her thoughts. 

Tell me you’re not judging me, because you’ve got absolutely no room to talk. 

Don’t be ridiculous, of course not. I fully endorse any and all consensual encounters, as numerous or as few as you like. 

Okay, just making sure she didn’t Pod person you or something. 

I don’t even know what that means, Anya. 

Why you don’t watch awesomely terrible B movies with me I’ll never know. 

I’m not sure it would help me understand half the references you make. 

You’ll never know until you try it. 

Tempting, but I may have to pass. 

I bet you’d watch them if Skye asked you to. 

…………… Shut up. 

(cheesy grin emoji) Mmhmm. 

I’ll give you a solid maybe. 

I’m wearing you down. I knew it would happen eventually. All I need now is to get Skye on my side and the next thing you know, you’ll be in the middle of a B movie marathon. 

Oh hell no, you’re absolutely not meeting her. Not yet, anyway. I don’t want to scare her off just yet. Give me a fighting chance, at least. 

Yeah yeah yeah. You know I’m the best way to find out who she really is. 

For now, I’m happy just getting to know who she wants me to know. 

Does that mean I should stop digging online? 

(facepalm emoji) I should have known. Just… Just don’t tell me anything you find out. Unless she’s a animal mutilator or something, then you have my permission to tell me. 

Judging from the sheer volume of pictures she has with a (dog breed) I think that’s quite unlikely. 

I said I didn’t want to know! 

Mmm, my bad. I didn’t know pictures involving canines were top secret. 

Whatever. It’s fine. I just really like her, that’s all. I don’t want to fuck this up. 

Hey, I’m proud of you, Lexa. I know this isn’t easy and it’s a big deal and all that shit. I’m glad she seems to be worth the time and effort. 

She does. She is. 

You’re going to have to let me meet her sooner or later, you know. 

Let’s make sure I can keep from maiming her through a couple more dates before we start meeting the family. 

Sounds like a plan. I’m going to hold you to that. 

I know you will. Thank, An. 

Any time, Lex. 

The day had finally arrived for Lexa to get a start on her tattoo. She had been looking forward to it since she’d first met with Skye, but now that the day was here, she felt a flutter of anticipation in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it had more to do with the tattoo itself or the fact that she’d be spending at least a few hours in very close proximity to Skye. As for getting the tattoo, she felt more than ready. She had mentally prepared as much as possible and was eager to do something that would help her feel more at home with her residual limb. Checking her bag, Lexa made sure she had the special cleanser she used on her silicone liners and on her limb, the silicone bandages to cover and protect it, and some Tylenol just in case the pain was more than what she planned for. Once she was satisfied she had everything she needed, she looked at her bare arm once more in the mirror, imagining how it would look, even partially done, in a few hours. It made her smile. 

Part of Lexa wondered how much of her excitement had to do with Skye. Obviously they liked each other, and Lexa was cautiously optimistic about where things could go. Even if things didn’t work out between them, she would always have a reminder of their time together. She didn’t think that would be a bad thing, even if things ended badly between them, because everything as it stood at the moment was better than anything she could have hoped for. The memory of how things were when she actually got her tattoo would forever be etched into her skin. 

Being the type of person that she was, Lexa arrived thirty minutes early for her appointment even though she knew that Skye was very good at estimating how long her clients would actually take. 

Kennedy lifted her hand in a simple sort of wave as she pulled the door open. “Hey, Lexa. You’re early, so Skye is still with a client. You can have a seat out here, if you like. Can I get you anything to drink? A snack?” she asked. They always kept the shop stocked with soda, water, fruit, cookies, and other small snack type items. 

Lexa gave Kennedy a smile and shook her head. “I’m good, ma’am, thank you.” 

“Lexa, you’re older than me, you know that, right?” Kennedy teased. She just couldn’t get used to being called ma’am. 

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t show you respect,” Lexa countered. 

“True that. Respect my authority!” 

Lexa rolled her eyes and shook her head. Something about the carefree sassiness of Kennedy was endearing, though she couldn’t really decide how that was possible. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I get a sudden craving for peanut butter crackers, ma’am.” 

Kennedy waved her off, rolling her eyes as she picked her phone back up to scroll through whatever she’d been engrossed with prior to Lexa’s arrival.  
True to her nature, Lexa waited patiently for Skye to be ready for her. Kennedy apologized politely a few times, even though it wasn’t Lexa’s appointment time yet, but Lexa only replied, “It takes as long as it takes.” She had stood at attention in formation for longer than her wait was going to be, and she’d rather have been early than late. 

After she’d been there for about fifteen minutes, Lexa heard Skye’s voice from the back of the shop, talking with her client as they made their way to the front.  
“You’re good to go unless you need some touch ups after it heals. I think it turned out really nicely,” Skye said. 

The smiling man with her nodded. “I’m sure it won’t need anything, why do you think I keep coming back to you?” he said with a soft chuckle. “But, I’ll let you know. I’ll probably see you in a couple of months to start on something new.” 

Skye smiled and nodded, clapping her hand on his shoulder. “Sounds great, Finn. You know I’ll be able to find a way to fit in my favorite canvas.”  
“Thanks again, Skye,” Finn said, pulling Skye into a tight hug. 

Skye’s eyes flitted to Lexa, the look of discomfort on her face obvious. Just as Lexa stood to intervene, Finn released Skye and left. Lexa arched her eyebrow at Skye, but Skye just shrugged one shoulder and gave a tiny shake of her head. 

“Hi,” Skye said almost shyly, stepping forward and reaching out to take Lexa’s hand. 

“Hey, you,” Lexa replied, squeezing Skye’s fingers between her own. 

“Let me just clean up back there, and then I’ll come get you, okay?” 

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A gagging noise from behind the counter interrupted them. Kennedy just looked at them with her finger poised in front of her open mouth, miming gagging herself. “Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something?” she said with far too much innocence. 

“I can fire you, you know,” Skye retorted, turning to glare at Kennedy with one hand on her hip. 

“You can, but you won’t. You like me too much. I’m the only thing that adds an element of cool to this place,” Kennedy replied, flipping her dark, silky hair over her shoulder. 

“I hate you,” Skye said, though the tone sounded very much like the opposite. 

“I hate you, too,” Kennedy replied, an affectionate grin pulling at her lips. 

“I’ll be right back,” Skye said, leaning up on her toes to kiss Lexa’s cheek before she turned and haded back to her area. 

Lexa’s cheeks heated up and an embarrassed smile lifted her cheeks. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, ma’am. It was inappropriate, and I shouldn’t have allowed it.” 

Kennedy replied with a pealing laugh. “Lexa, relax, you’re going to pop something. I just like to give Skye a hard time. It’s been a long time since she’s been this happy. If I didn’t harass her about it, she’d think I didn’t approve.” 

Lexa thought she understood that. It sounded very similar to how her military family communicated. Positive emotions and caring feelings for each other were very rarely obviously expressed. She nodded her head in one firm motion in acceptance of it. She wondered if Kennedy also came from a military family since Kennedy barely seemed old enough to have enlisted. 

It wasn’t long until Skye returned to the front of the shop to retrieve Lexa with an intimate smile. “Ready?” At Lexa’s nod, she held her hand out. “Follow me,” she said unnecessarily. 

Though she had been in the shop before, Lexa looked around as they made their way back to Skye’s room. There were so many things hung and displayed, not to mention the actual murals on the walls themselves. She was pretty sure she could spend a full day in here and still not see everything.  
Skye closed the door behind them, enveloping them in a sense of privacy even though two of the walls were a few feet from the ceiling. “I missed you,” Skye said softly, squeezing Lexa’s hand that was still in hers. 

Lexa smiled, looking down a bit. “I missed you, too. I thought I was being silly since it’s only been two days since our date.” 

“Two days too many, in my opinion,” Skye replied with a smile. “Is it okay that I kissed your cheek out there? I should have asked first.” 

“It was fine. I liked it, even though Kennedy mocked us.” 

Skye flitted her free hand as if waving the idea away. “That’s just how she shows her love. She’s had a kind of fucked up life, so sarcasm is her safety net.”  
Lexa nodded in understanding. “I like her, I think. I mean, I don’t know her that well, but she seems like she’s… I don’t know, somehow both innocent and tough as hell all at once.” 

“That’s an excellent assessment of her. She’s a good kid, a good person in general, and I’m really proud to be apprenticing her.” 

“She’s lucky to have you,” Lexa said honestly. 

“Let’s see if you still say that after I’ve inked you,” Skye teased, turning the tattoo chair and waving her hand toward it to indicate that Lexa should sit.  
Pulling her bag into her lap, Lexa sat down and unzipped it. “Here’s the cleanser that we talked about, and I have the bandages and some Tylenol,” she said, leaning over to place each of the mentioned items on the counter beside the small sink. 

“Perfect. Did you want to take any Tylenol before we start?” 

“Nah, I’m hoping that it will be just like a normal tattoo. I promise to let you know if it feels like too much or anything.” 

“Good, I’m holding you to that,” Skye said seriously. She popped on a pair of black gloves and sprayed down the counter before laying out a sterile sheet and placing four tiny, plastic cups on it. She took her bottle of black ink and shook it vigorously, one fingertip holding the cap on the tip as she smacked the bottom of the bottle against the heel of her other hand. Then, she carefully dripped several drops of ink into the plastic cups, filling them each almost to overflowing. She pulled off her gloves with a snap and tossed them in the small trash can under the counter. “Can I take another look?” she asked, nodding to Lexa’s arm. 

Having foregone her prosthetics since she wouldn’t have been able to wear either of them home anyway, Lexa held out her arm for Skye to inspect. “Cat said it looks good, that everything is basically as healed as it’s going to get,” she said as Skye leaned in close to look it over, even evaluating her elbow. 

“I have very little medical knowledge, but it looks good as far as my experience with scarring goes. We’ve already talked about the possibility that the scars might not take the ink the same as the rest of your skin and the possibility that it could be excruciatingly painful if your nerve endings are still too sensitive. Do you have any other questions for me before we get started?”

“Just one. Do you really think this is a good idea?” 

Skye left one hand on Lexa’s residual limb and moved the other to Lexa’s other forearm. “You’re asking a woman who has one full sleeve and numerous other tattoos that you’ve not seen yet. As far as having a tattoo goes, you’ve already got one so I know you’re not opposed to them or anything. As far as if it’s the right decision for you, that’s something only you can decide. From what you’ve told me, though, I think you’ve thought about it a lot. But, if you’re not absolutely and completely sure about it, we can reschedule.” 

The way Skye gently touched both of her arms made it a little hard for Lexa to pay attention to what Skye was saying. She licked her lips as her eyes flickered between Skye’s mouth and blue, blue eyes. She forced herself to nod as Skye finished speaking, the words seeming to filter in through her ears at a bit of a delay. “I have thought about it, and I want to do it. I just wanted to get your opinion one last time before we started.” 

“If you change your mind at any point, we’ll stop and reevaluate, okay? We’re in this together,” she said, both of her hands squeezing Lexa’s arms. At Lexa’s final nod, Skye smiled and pushed herself back on her little rolling stool. She opened one of the drawers below the sink and pulled out the prepared design that Lexa had chosen. “Awesome, let’s get you all washed up then we’ll work on the placement,” she said, putting on another pair of black gloves, then taking the bottle of cleanser that Lexa brought with her and gently washing Lexa’s arm halfway up her bicep. 

Lexa watched Skye work with a tight jaw, her teeth clenching together at the intimacy and trust required to allow Skye to touch her like that. She was fairly certain that having sex would have been less intimate. She wondered if Skye understood that, but the way in which Skye handled her carefully, not pulling or scratching or being rough in any way told her that Skye just might get it. Her jaw relaxed, and she moved it side to side, taking in a slow, deep breath. She saw Skye’s lips pull up slightly in a hidden smile, but Skye’s eyes never seemed to leave her work. 

“All finished,” Skye said softly as she pat dried Lexa’s arm with several fluffy paper towels then dropped them in the trash can along with her gloves.  
“You use a lot of gloves,” Lexa observed. 

Skye laughed softly. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to cross contaminate. I use a different pair for everything I do, just to be safe. Having to buy a few extra boxes of gloves is definitely worth it. I could say I blame it on (teacherNyko?), but it’s probably just as much my own studies in microbiology or my mother’s fault. If it makes you feel better, my kitchen is always a mess,” she teased. 

Lexa chuckled at that revelation. “I’ll keep that in mind and never let you cook,” she teased back. 

Skye put on an overly dramatic shocked expression. “Rude. I’m an excellent chef.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“Then I’ll have to prove it to you on our next date.” 

The response made Lexa’s eyes soften, and she smiled. “Our next date, huh?” 

“Absolutely. I mean, assuming you say yes.” 

“I’ll definitely say yes.” 

“That takes the pressure off, then,” Skye said, calling back to Lexa’s own response on her door step. “But, for now, we should probably concentrate on this.” 

“Tease.” 

“You’re only a tease if you don’t deliver.” 

Lexa’s mouth hung open slightly in surprise, and she shook her head and laughed. “Noted.” Skye was definitely someone who kept her on her toes. 

“All right, let’s position this,” Skye said as she pulled on another pair of gloves then spread a transparent, green, gel deodorant stick onto paper towel then wiping it over her arm where the stencil was to be placed. She carefully lined up the stencil then pressed the thin paper against Lexa’s arm, making sure to straighted out the pieces that flowed up her arm toward Lexa’s existing tattoo. When she pulled the paper away, the purple of the stencil remained on Lexa’s arm. “Okay, check it out,” Skye said, indicating the mirror as she handed Lexa a hand mirror as well to make sure Lexa could see all the different angles. 

Lexa stood and approached the full length mirror with her arm held naturally at her side. She turned her body back and forth to see how it looked with her arm relaxed. Then she bent her elbow and held her arm up in front of her, checking the way the design moved as her skin did. She flexed a few times, not a huge difference in her forearm, but watched the way the purple lines and curves rippled as her muscles moved. She looked at it for several minutes with a very critical eye, just as she knew Skye was looking at it from her position on the small stool. At last, she was satisfied. “I can’t find a single line out of place,” she said with a smile, handing the hand mirror back to Skye as she sat down in the tattoo chair again. 

“I have perfect canvas,” Skye said with a bright smile, slipping the mirror back into one of the drawers. 

“Here I thought Finn was your favorite canvas,” Lexa teased, only a little bit serious. 

“Oh god. He’s had a crush on me since he started coming in a few years ago. He’s nice enough, we even went on a couple of dates forever ago, but he’s far too dull to keep me interested. We ran out of things to talk about on the first date, but I gave it another chance in case it was first date jitters, you know? But no, he’s just far to into himself. Plus, his floppy hair always made me want to pin it back with a barrette. He calls himself my favorite canvas, he’s a hell of a tipper, and he gets a ton of work done, so who am I to argue with him. Every time he comes in I can basically pay my rent, so I’m glad to play into his little fantasy. He knows there’s nothing more than a professional relationship there, though. He’s not a jackass about it even though he still likes me,” Skye explained with a smile. 

“Ahhh, good to know,” Lexa said, trying to sound casual. 

Skye rested her hand on Lexa’s knee. “I know we’ve only been on two dates, basically, but if I was interested in dating anyone else, you’d be the first to know. I don’t have a problem with people dating more than person at a time as long as everyone involved is aware of the situation.” 

Lexa felt her cheeks heat a bit, but she gave Skye a small smile. “Thank you,” she said shyly. 

“All right, sit your fine ass down, and let’s get some ink slung,” Skye said, patting the vinyl chair that had the right arm rest covered with a thick, plastic hygiene barrier. 

Lexa eased herself into the chair, scooting her bottom back to find a comfortable spot. She rested her elbow on the arm rest, looking at her residual limb with the purple guide lines marking it, the image a bit smudged where the paper had left a mark where it wasn’t needed. It wasn’t her first tattoo, so it wasn’t as if she didn’t know what to expect in general, but she knew that this could be an entirely different situation all together. She watched as Skye pulled on yet another pair of black gloves and pulled plastic sleeves and guards over the different parts of the tattoo machine that could potentially be splattered by stray ink or blood. 

Skye pulled herself closer to the tattoo chair with her feet, rolling on the padded stool on which she was seated, and nudged the foot pedal into place. Pressing the toe of her shoe down a couple of times, she tested the sound of the tattoo machine, the sharp buzzing filling the small room. She pulled open a sterile package with three different needles inside, choosing the single needle to start. The others would be used to shade or fill in larger areas. Sliding the single needle into the barrel, Skye checked the length of the needle, adjusting it slightly until she was satisfied. She buzzed the machine three more times out of habit, or possibly ritual, and pulled the tray with the small ink cups on it closer. “Ready?” she asked, looking up at Lexa. 

Lexa nodded, her fingers curling around the left arm of the chair as she crossed her ankles. 

“Breathe, Lexa,” Skye said softly, reaching over to cover Lexa’s hand with her own, gently prying her fingers up from the arm. 

Blushing, Lexa tucked her lips between her teeth and took in a slow, deep breath and holding it before letting it back out again. “Okay, I’m ready now,” she said, stretching her fingers out and pressing them against the arm of the chair to make a small pop per digit. 

“All right,” Skye said, keeping her eyes on Lexa’s face for a few more moments before dipping the needle into the ink and turning the machine on. “Here we go.” 

The feeling of the needle piercing her skin was like being doused in ice water from a dead sleep, and Lexa gasped softly. She nodded to no one in particular when Skye didn’t stop, finishing out the thin, straight line she’d been working on before picking the needle up. “I’m good,” she said in response to Skye’s questioning look. 

“Let me know if that changes,” Skye instructed as the buzzing resumed. 

It was slightly less shocking the second time the needle glided over and through her skin. She could certainly tell where there was more scar tissue and where her unmarred skin differentiated. She watched Skye work, blue eyes concentrating as one graceful hand moved back and forth between the ink cup and her arm and the other, paper towel wrapped around Skye’s index finger, wiped excess ink and blood away. It was almost as if she could separate herself from the pain, watching it from afar. At the same time, the feeling made something inside Lexa build, a coiling in her abdomen she hadn’t felt in the presence of another person for quite some time. 

“Fuck,” Lexa breathed when Skye slid across a particularly sensitive area, but she didn’t move or jerk her arm. 

“Guess we found a sensitive spot, huh?” Skye said conversationally, not stopping her work. She’d learned that unless the client was going to pass out or asked for a break, it was almost always better to keep going. She wasn’t worried about Lexa, though, since it wasn’t her first tattoo and they had a certain level of trust between them. It never hurt that her room had a door on it, as well, because then clients didn’t feel the need to appear tough or strong to other people in the shop even though it was rare that anyone else was paying attention to anyone other than themselves. 

“Mmhmm. It’s not as bad as I feared, though.” 

“I’ve been told I have the softest touch this side of the Mississippi River,” Skye said with a grin. 

“That seems like an odd thing to say about someone who gouges people with needles thousands of times for a living.” 

“It seems to me it would be more odd that people pay me to do it,” Skye said as she dipped the machine back into the ink cup and returned to the design. 

“Touche,” Lexa said with a smile before hissing and grabbing the arm of the chair as she felt an electric shock run through her arm and up into her jaw. The pain was so intense it was almost as if she could hear it, a loud, cacophonous chord played much too loudly inside her head. 

“You okay?” Skye asked, pausing her progress, making note of the area she had just been working in. 

“That… That was intense,” Lexa said, taking slow, deep breaths. “Must have a nerve ending there or something.” 

“Do you want to keep going or want me to work somewhere else or take a break?” Skye asked, holding the tattoo machine well away from Lexa’s arm. 

“No, I think keep going in the same area. It just surprised me.” 

Skye inspected Lexa’s face, looking for any sort of ongoing distress. When she found none, she continued, working as efficiently as she could as Lexa clenched her jaw so hard Skye was briefly afraid Lexa’s teeth would crack. When she finished the area, she lifted her foot, stopping the buzzing that filled the air around them. “Still hanging in there, Marine?” 

Lexa straighted her shoulders which had pulled down and in, hunching her back as if she was trying to protect her soft insides, and turned her chin from side to side. She took the first deep breath she had inhaled in the past several minutes and swallowed hard, her swan neck tensing. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered softly. 

“Lexa,” Skye said softly, waiting until green eyes met blue. “We knew it was possible that it might take several sessions and that the pain might be more than you feel like you could handle all at once. There’s no shame in that.” 

“Yeah, no, I know. It’s not that,” Lexa said with a slight shake of her head. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Skye asked, setting the tattoo machine on the rolling tray beside the tiny ink cups and popping off her black gloves. 

Holding her lips between her teeth, Lexa looked up as if the ceiling would hold some sort of clue as to what the correct answer should be. It was several minutes until her eyes tracked down the walls, finding Skye looking at her with nothing but patience and concern. “The pain is pretty intense,” she started, “but I think it’s more than that. It’s like…” She sighed softly, trying to figure out how to continue. “Have you ever had your leg fall asleep and you absolutely can’t feel it at all except for the incredibly biting, stabbing, sharp tingles around the area where the feeling is still there, but you have to get up to walk across the room for whatever reason and even though you can’t feel your leg at all, not even a little bit, you can see that it’s there and it will still support your weight if you watch where you’re going and step carefully?” 

Skye nodded, trying to decipher where this was going but coming up empty. “I hate that feeling.” 

“Now, imagine that it’s the exact opposite. You can still feel your leg, and feel like it should support you but you look down and it’s not there. There’s nothing left of it even though you still feel it and move your foot and your toes and everything, but then, not only is it not there, but you can see and feel someone touching it. You can see that they are touching the entirety of your leg, but it’s not all of what you feel should be there. It’s… unsettling,” Lexa finished, her eyes casting down to her lap. 

Skye rolled her stool a bit closer and reached out to gently place her fingers beneath Lexa’s chin, guiding it upward until their eyes met again. She leaned in a bit and slid her hand a bit up Lexa’s jaw, her thumb brushing across Lexa’s high cheek bone. “I won’t pretend I can even imagine what it feels like. Is there anything I can do differently to make it less unsettling?” she asked, using Lexa’s word of choice. 

Tilting her head to one side slightly, Lexa considered Skye’s question. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s weird, obviously, but I think I trust you, too.” It was a hard admission to make, but it was the truth as she knew it. 

“Do you have a lot of problems with phantom pain?” 

Lexa shrugged one shoulder. “Not as much as I did at first, but it still happens sometimes. I get muscle cramps and stuff sometimes.” 

“What helps when you get that?” Skye asked, moving her hand down to rest on Lexa’s shoulder. 

“I do this really dumb looking mirror thing,” Lexa answered, rolling her eyes. “It’s ridiculous, but it actually does help.” 

“I’ve read about that. Wait here,” Skye said, standing up and walking out of her station without another word. When she returned, she was holding the mirror from above the bathroom sink. “Will this work?” 

Lexa’s eyebrows climbed her forehead, and she couldn’t help but shake her head and laugh. “Did you literally just go hijack a mirror from somewhere?” 

“It’s my shop, too, I can steal the bathroom mirror for a little while if I want to. Seriously, though, will this work?” The mirror was big enough, about three feet by four feet, and had an old fashioned, ornate frame that had been painted black. Lexa nodded and Skye smiled, tapping one of Lexa’s thighs to have her spread her legs as she stood the mirror between them, the reflective side on the left. 

“You don’t have to do this, Skye. We can just reschedule if you want,” Lexa demurred awkwardly. 

“Why in the world would I do that? We’ve got tons of time left. If one of my clients was feeling faint, we’d stop and I’d make sure they got something to eat and drink. This is no different.” 

Lexa’s eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to figure out if Skye was being facetious or not.

“Come on, at least try it for me,” Skye coaxed. 

Lexa immediately knew she was in trouble, because she instantly wanted to do anything Skye asked. “Fine,” she said gruffly. 

Skye smiled and kicked her stool to the foot of the tattoo chair and sat on it, her knees spread so she could get as close as possible. Holding the mirror steady with her left hand until they both leaned forward and braced it with one shoulder each, she reached out with her right and touched Lexa’s hand. She wiggled her fingers, tapping her fingertips against Lexa’s knuckles until Lexa spread her fingers and let Skye slide hers between them. She gave Lexa’s hand a soft squeeze and looked up into her eyes. “What’s next?”

Lexa’s throat turned dry when Skye held her hand, looking in the mirror so that it appeared they were holding both hands together. She moved her wrist and rubbed her thumb in a small circle against the soft area between Skye’s thumb and index finger. She felt her eyes well up as she lifted their hands slightly, mimicking every motion with her right arm even when the actions couldn’t be seen. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, she continued to move her arms through the motions without letting go of Skye’s hand. She didn’t think she’d ever again see herself holding both of the hands of someone she could potentially care about. She was thankful that Skye didn’t comment on her watery eyes and instead matched her movements as well as Skye could.  
After several minutes of silence, though it felt as if they were communicating on a subverbal level, Lexa licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Will you, I mean, if it’s okay with you, will you touch my arm and kind of try to match the movements as much as possible?” she asked, her voice a bit gravelly with emotion. 

Without a word, Skye reached out and gently placed each of her fingers and thumb around Lexa’s residual limb, keeping them spaced as if Lexa’s fingers were between her own. It was a little awkward, but she managed to turn and squeeze and flex and relax at a similar pace to Lexa’s silent instruction.  
“This is really fucking weird,” Lexa finally breathed, the expression on her face somewhere between disgusted and intrigued. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Skye asked softly, not moving yet. 

“I think I want to try to keep going,” Lexa replied, quickly pressing into her eyes with the fleshy pad at the base of her thumb to wipe away any rogue tears before they could fall. 

“We can do that,” Skye said with a small nod, giving Lexa’s hand and arm one last squeeze before she let go and moved the mirror onto the floor to lean against one of the walls. She donned another pair of gloves and picked up the machine, buzzing it a few times and checking the needle depth out of long habit. 

Lexa leaned back in the chair again, resting her elbow on the arm rest, and let her head fall back against the head rest. This time, when the needle began dragging through her tender, relatively new skin, it didn’t feel as if there was a dull cheese grater being raked across her arm. It still hurt, but it was much more manageable. One side of her lips curled up, and she chuckled almost silently. 

“Better?” Skye asked as she glanced up while dipping the needle into one of the tiny pools of black. 

“Better,” Lexa confirmed, and she let out a heavy breath. Her entire body seemed to relax with it, and even her legs unclenched. 

“You’re one bad ass mother fucker.” 

“Maybe you just have magic hands.” 

“I may or may not have heard that once or twice before,” Skye teased. 

Lexa laughed softly. “Terrible.” 

“Hey, you started it. It’s not my fault you just happened to be right.” 

The remaining hours of Lexa’s appointment time went without incident. Though there were a few places she had to have a break during, the entirety of the outline was complete. Skye wiped the area over and over with clean paper towels and the cleanser Lexa had brought, not stopping until she was satisfied that it was disinfected and the bleeding had slowed to barely a trickle. 

“Looks good,” Skye commented, nodding her chin toward the full length mirror as she popped her gloves off and flicked them into the trash can.  
Lexa slipped out of the tattoo chair and looked in the mirror, examining her arm from all angles. It was pink and a little swollen from the trauma to the skin, but that was to be expected with any tattoo immediately after having work done. “It does. It looks really good,” she agreed and walked over to sit back down in the chair. 

“Would it be okay with you if I took pictures of it for my portfolio? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to,” Skye quickly added, not wanting Lexa to feel pressured into it. 

“Yeah, of course, that’d be fine. This is kind of a learning experience for both of us, right? If it can help out other people like me, most definitely,” Lexa agreed easily. 

“Awesome,” Skye said and pulled an old school Polaroid camera out from the largest drawer. 

“Seriously?” Lexa asked with a laugh. 

“Hey, I love these things. They look great. Don’t worry, I’ll take a pic with my phone, too,” Skye defended and stuck out her tongue. She held the boxy camera up to her face and pushed the button, a distinct mechanical whir filling the air around them as the square of film was exposed and pushed out through the front slot like a tongue. Skye set the picture on the counter and picked her cell phone up, flipping to the camera app. She took a few pictures of the artwork from different angles, nodding in satisfaction at the results. “I believe I officially have a new favorite canvas,” she said with a wink, tucking the phone back into her pocket. 

“Are you sure? I don’t know that I’ll be paying your rent,” Lexa countered, a tiny smirk making her eyes sparkle. 

“That’s okay, I don’t need a sugar mama.” 

“Good to know.” 

“Let’s get that covered,” Skye said, pulling on one last pair of gloves before carefully opening one of the large, silicone bandages Lexa had brought. Taking care to position it so that there would be optimal protection of the new artwork, Skye gently pressed it against Lexa’s skin. “Holy shit, these things are awesome,” she commented. “I definitely needed to know about these. They would be excellent for some of my more delicate clients.” 

Lexa nodded. “They are really good. They don’t stick to wounds, either, so they can be used on really new and fragile skin. I know they’re used on burns a lot.” 

“I’ll have to ask my mom where to get some.” Skye pulled off her gloves and grabbed a small bottle of lotion from her top drawer and applying it to her hands. “The gloves make my hands feel dry sometimes,” she explained. 

Lexa smiled at the scent. It was subtle and not overly sweet or flowery. She looked down at her arm, the transparent bandage making it easy to see the dark lines etched into her skin. There was something inside her that just sort of clicked. 

That was exactly what she needed. 

Turning to hang her legs off the side of the chair, Lexa leaned forward and pulled Skye to her, the stool rolling easily. “Thank you,” she said softly before wrapping her arms tightly around Skye’s neck. She closed her eyes and inhaled gently, Skye’s scent surrounding her. The lotion was there, of course, but she could also smell a slight antiseptic tinge from her own soap that Skye had used. On top of that was a light coconut scent, but it wasn’t too sweet like coconut candy, but more like the fruit itself. 

Skye slid her arms around Lexa’s waist returning the hug, smiling into Lexa’s shoulder. “You’re welcome. Thank you for trusting me,” she said earnestly. She held on until she felt Lexa loosen her grip, then she pulled slightly back and smiled. “How do you feel?” she asked, wondering not just about the pain level but about the deeper feelings, as well. 

Lexa licked her lips and nodded. “Good. It’s good,” she said, moving her arm around and flexing the muscles, surprised that the pain had so quickly subsided. “I’m good,” she added at Skye’s pressing look. “I can’t wait to see how it turns out.” 

The smile that spread across Skye’s face was nearly blinding, and Lexa tried to memorize every millimeter of it. “Me, neither. It’s going to be epic,” she promised. 

“I believe it. I’m your new favorite canvas, after all.” Lexa smiled and pulled out her wallet, paying Skye the predetermined fee plus a hefty tip, refusing to take it back when Skye tried to tell her it was too much. “It’s for more than just the tattoo, Skye,” she said softly, pushing Skye’s hand away. 

Skye opened her mouth, but then shut it with a soft click of her teeth. The last thing she wanted Lexa to do was over pay her just because they were sort of dating, but the look in Lexa’s eyes told her that the reasoning wasn’t because of their relationship. Rather, it had been for the entire experience. “All right,” she finally acquiesced, folding the money and shoving it into a lock box bolted to her counter. 

“Good choice,” Lexa praised. Waiting until Skye turned back around, Lexa fidgeted with the hem at the bottom of her shorts. “So, we kind of talked about another date…” 

“That we did. Would you please go on a date with me?” Skye asked, glad to be able to ask Lexa now that the tattooing was done for the moment. 

"You waste no time, do you?" Lexa asked with a grin.

"Life is short and other cliches," Skye replied and tossed the final pair of gloves into the trash after gathering up the liner on the counter with the ink caps still inside the bundle.

"That is so very, very true," Lexa agreed. "I'd love to go on a date with you, Skye. What did you have in mind?"

"Ah ah, you surprised me, let me at least have the chance to do the same."

"All right, then. You'll at least have to give me a dress code."

"Will do, but I can pretty much assure you it won't require formal wear of any kind."

"Good, because I'm a slacker and need to take my blues to the cleaner. I should probably do that before it's actually needed," Lexa added with a soft chuckle.

"Oh my god, Lexa, you're just begging for a surprise inspection."

"Bite your tongue, woman!" Lexa insisted, knocking three times on various surfaces that might somehow be wood, including her own forehead.

Skye laughed and held her hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry."

"You should know better," Lexa scolded, but there was a sparkle in her eyes.

"You're right, I do, should I drop and give you twenty?"

"Don't tempt me."

"I didn't specify twenty what," Skye said, waggling her eyebrows.

Lexa's face heated up slightly, and she cleared her throat. "I, um, I guess you didn't. Now I'm intrigued."

"You weren't intrigued before with the prospect of me dropping at your feet to perform twenty push ups?"

"I'd be lying if I agreed with you right now. I'll admit, I've seen a zillion push ups in my time, but after how you performed on the paintball field, I'd definitely be interested in your push ups."

"Maybe we should go to a gym for our date," Skye teased.

"I'm not sure if I'm ready to sweat quite that copiously in front of you, yet."

Skye's grin spread from ear to ear.

"What?"

"You said yet."

"I guess I did."

"I like yet with you."

Lexa tucked her lips into her mouth, pressing her teeth together slightly to hold them in place. "I like yet with you, too, Skye," she finally replied.

"Good," Skye said simply, standing from her rolling stool. "I don't want to seem like I'm running you off, but I have another client in half an hour. I need to pee and grab a snack."

"Oh, god, yes, of course. Shit, I'm sorry," Lexa stammered, popping up out of the chair and standing at parade rest.

Skye laughed and gently gripped Lexa's bicep, shaking her a bit. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I would just much rather hang out with you, but alas, I'm a slave to the dollah dollah bill, ya'll."

Lexa laughed and shook her head in amusement. "I feel you there," she agreed and stepped over to the door then turned the knob, holding it open for Skye.

Skye arched an amused eyebrow but passed through the doorway anyway, allowing Lexa to be chivalrous.

Kennedy looked up as the pair approached the front counter. "Can I see?" she asked excitedly. She'd seen Skye's preliminary sketches but hadn't been privy to which was chosen, much less the tweaks to finalize the design.

"Of course," Lexa said, holding out her arm for Kennedy to look at.

Kennedy leaned in closer, her hands tucked behind her back, and she let out a low, impressed whistle. "Wow, that looks amazing. I can't wait to see it when it's finished," she said honestly.

"I completely agree," Lexa said proudly, looking at the work again. She had a feeling she'd be looking at it a lot over the next few days.

"You should use this stuff for all your tats, Skye," Kennedy said, indicating the silicone bandage, "that way everyone can show off their badass artwork right away."

"I've already made a note to ask Mom about it," Skye replied wryly.

"Good. You know I have to keep you in line," Kennedy retorted.

"That's what you keep telling me, but who is apprenticing for whom?"

"Doesn't mean you don't need to be kept in line."

Skye rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, a clear indication that Kennedy had won the round. Turning her attention to Lexa, her expression softened. "I'll call you, okay?"

"Sounds good. Thanks again, Skye," Lexa said then made her way out the door.

A few days passed before Lexa heard from Skye. It didn’t feel like she was being avoided, however, quite the opposite actually. They were both busy, and Lexa had been training hard on the shooting range to try to get up to par with her left hand in order to attempt to earn her shooting badge again. It wasn’t only a requirement that every Marine was a rifleman, it was a matter of pride. More than a couple of times, she had thought about asking Skye to help her since Skye was left handed. She didn’t really know how to ask, though, and it was embarrassing. She wasn’t surprised when she looked at her ringing phone and saw Skye’s name, along with a photo of her new tattoo, on the screen. It was almost as if when she thought of Skye, Skye could feel it. The fact that she found herself almost always thinking about Skye was something she chose not to acknowledge. 

“Hey you,” she said, holding the phone to her ear after sliding her thumb across the screen, the smile on her face evident in her tone. 

“Hey yourself,” Skye replied with a soft sigh. 

“Been busy?” 

“Crazy busy. Gustus fucked up his hand doing something stupid that he won’t admit to any of us, so I’ve been taking on his clients as well as mine.” 

“How do you even find time for that?” 

“I’m working a ridiculous amount of hours, but now I can afford to take you out to that swanky five star, Michelin rated restaurant I had my eye on,” Skye said.  
Lexa stammered for a moment, unable to figure out how to tell Skye that really fancy things like that really weren’t her cup of tea. 

“I’m kidding, Lexa. I promised no formal wear, remember?” Skye said with a soft laugh. 

“You’re trying to give me a heart attack, aren’t you?” Lexa asked, relaxing considerably when the threat of something so far outside her comfort zone was off the table. 

“Only a mild palpitation. Definitely not a heart attack when I’m not there to give you CPR.” 

Lexa laughed and shook her head, closing her eyes to picture Skye’s expression. “Good to know that you only plan to kill me a little bit.” 

“There’s still too much I don’t know about you. I want a lot more time with you before you die,” Skye said, her tone taking on a soft edge. 

“Luckily for you, I have no plans to die any time soon. I’m too stubborn for that. I tell Death the same thing I say to software updates on my computer - not today,” Lexa said, rolling her eyes at her own lame joke. 

“I’m glad you didn’t say ‘remind me in 15 minutes’,” Skye teased back, much to Lexa’s pleasure. 

“So, is your hand falling off yet? I give a killer massage.” 

“Now that is something I could get behind. Maybe our date should just involve comfy clothes and massage oils.” 

Lexa felt her cheeks heat up. She was pretty sure that Skye was kidding, but the fact that she’d offered a massage and Skye hadn’t faltered made her insides flutter. Truth be told, she hadn’t given an actual massage in quite some time, certainly not within the past year. She wondered if her boast could actually still be considered to be true. 

“I’m teasing you, Lexa,” Skye’s voice cut in, pulling Lexa out of her head for the moment. 

“I’m going to eventually get used to that,” Lexa promised, her cheeks flushing a bit darker. 

“If it helps, I can start giving you sign like holding up an index card that says joke on it or giving you a terrible, verbal jk.” 

“The index card could prove to be useful, but if you use text speak verbally, I may have to kill you. Or at least maim you,” Lexa said, her voice deeper in a mock threat. 

“Just don’t mess with the left hand or the face,” Skye quipped. 

Lexa laughed softly, leaning back in her chair and staring at the ceiling. “Nothing fazes you, does it?”

“Not much, honestly. Growing up in a military home, bouncing around from base to base, living through both my parents being deployed at one time or another, not much really compares.” 

“I bet you love horror movies, don’t you?” 

Skye’s laughter pealed over the airwaves. “Am I that easy to read?” 

“Not really. Maybe,” Lexa said. “When you live through things that are actually horrible, movies seem a safe alternative.” 

“You’re not shrinking me, are you, Lexa?” Skye teased, the lopsided grin shining through the words. 

“Fuck, no. I’m not a fan of that shit,” Lexa immediately responded. It was an unspoken rule that soldiers don’t get mental health help, no matter what the official line was. There were a lot of resources that were available to soldiers dealing with mental health issues, and several psychologists and psychiatrists that were on the payroll, but anyone who wanted to stay enlisted knew better than to use them. Lexa had attended the required sessions that were mandated of her when she returned from her last tour, but even that involved her dispassionately describing the incident as if she was writing a report and very little else. She spoke about her fellow Marines’ injuries and concern for the families for those who didn’t return, but discussions of her own injuries, both physical and mental, were shut down almost immediately. 

“Hey,” Skye said softly. “I’m not a soldier, remember? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with getting help when you need it. I had a therapist that was a godsend after my dad died,” she explained. 

Lexa felt sheepish. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “You know how it is,” she added. 

“I do. No more talk of head shrinking,” Skye promised. 

“So, have I completely blown my chances for that second date?” Lexa asked, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Of course not, don’t be silly. I was kidding about the massage oil part, but if you’re game for it, I thought we really could do a casual thing. I can attempt to cook dinner for us, and you could come over and meet my fur children. We could find some horrible movie on Netflix to either talk through or make fun of. No chilling, just Netflix and food and dog fur on your clothes so don’t wear black.” Skye paused before cheekily adding, “You do know it’s a third date, right?”

“The first one doesn’t count because I didn’t know it was a date!” 

“It’s not my fault you’re extremely oblivious.” 

Lexa tried not to laugh, she really did, but the half exasperated, half amused sound escaped without her permission. “Home cooked food and dog hair, sounds like fun,” she said, not so subtly changing the subject. 

“Awesome. How about Thursday? I’m scheduled off work, so, assuming Gustus doesn’t do something ridiculous again, I’ll actually have the first day off I’ve had in twelve years.” 

“Something tells me you’re being dramatic, Skye.”

“I’m absolutely not being dramatic, Lexa.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I totally say so.” 

“Good night, Skye.”

“Good night, Lexa. I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

Lexa tried not to think about how her stomach fluttered at the thought. 

Skye scrambles around her kitchen, trying not to trip over the mass of fluff that is figure-eighting around and between her legs. A much larger mass of fluff sits on the carpet, front toes barely touching the edge of the tile, tail wagging so hard it looks like it is trembling. 

“Guys, you’re killing me.” Skye huffs, using her foot to slide the cat across the tile floor with practiced ease. “You, don’t you have a window to protect and squirrels to pretend to stalk? And you,” she points a spatula at the dog, “I’m not cooking for you.” The pointing seems to have the opposite effect as the wiggling turns into wiggling and whining. Skye blows her hair out of her face and shakes her head. 

“I thought we decided we would all be on our best behavior tonight. Make a good impression and all that. I told you; it’s our third date, and you know what that means.” She stirs the sauce again, banging the spatula against the edge of the pan before resting it on the ceramic unicorn spoon rest. The doorbell sounds, and Skye curses, rushing to open the door. 

Lexa chuckles at the sound of Skye arguing with someone inside the apartment. When the door opens, she can see why. 

A huge, white, wiggling mass prances from one foot to the other, making terrifically sad sounds of need and greeting. Skye snaps sharply and holds her closed hand in front of the fur. It immediately drops its bottom to he floor with a soft fwump but continues the wiggling and whining. 

“Hello there,” Lexa says, squatting down so she is nearer to the floof’s eye level. 

“This is DOGNAME. He’s been greatly anticipating your visit.” 

As if on cue, a significantly smaller, lithe, lioness colored bundle of fur presses against Skye’s ankle, lazily trailing a figure eight around Skye’s feet while still keeping an eye on Lexa. 

“And this is CATNAME. She’s been looking forward to meeting you, but she likes to pretend that she’s aloof.” 

“Like her mommy the first time I met her,” Lexa teases, resting a bottle of wine on the floor that she’d been gingerly holding in her right hand, and switching a bouquet of flowers that had been in her left to her right. She then holds her left hand out to let DOG sniff it. He immediately head butts her hand, requiring pettings. Lexa complies and scratches around the smaller floofs on the sides of his head, massaging lightly behind his ears. At the very insistent yeowl, she turns her attention to CAT, offering her hand which is quickly dismissed with a series of meows to Skye. Lexa isn’t sure what the verdict is, but she’s certain judgment has been passed. 

“Hi,” Lexa says softly as she stands, wine and flowers in her hands once more. 

“Lexa,” Skye says, her smile growing at Lexa’s gifts even more than at Lexa’s reaction to her pets. “You didn’t have to bring anything,” she insists even as she files it away in her ‘reasons to like Lexa’ mental list. 

“I know. I wanted to.” Lexa waits to breach the door frame until Skye, pink cheeked, invites her in with a flourish of her arm. “It smells delicious, Skye.”  
Skye thanks her, taking the flowers and planting a soft, chaste kiss on Lexa’s cheek. “Bring the wine?” 

Lexa nods, following Skye as she subtly checks out the apartment. There is artwork of all types displayed on nearly every open space on the walls and covering many horizontal surfaces, as well. She recognizes some of it, but most of it isn’t anything she’s seen before. There is seemingly every style from impressionist to new school tattoo designs. “You have a lovely apartment,” she compliments, setting the bottle of wine on the bar that separates the living room from the kitchen. 

“Oh my god, Lexa, I know this place is basically a bachelor pad. Your place is probably all organized and uncluttered,” Skye teases, dropping pasta into the pot of boiling water. 

“Well, yes, but it’s more out of habit and necessity at this point. It’s counter productive to get too settled in when I might get orders at any given time,” she explains, then pauses. “I suppose that isn’t going to happen any time soon.” 

“Their loss; my incredible gain,” Skye says, moving around the bar to place her hand on Lexa’s right arm, lifting her hand to place a soft kiss on it.  
Even though Lexa can’t physically feel the kiss, it makes a soft warmth spread through her abdomen. The feeling makes her breath catch, and she only barely resists a literal swoon. God, I’m hopeless. 

A quiet dinging interrupts the moment, and Skye swiftly turns to pour the water off the pasta before carefully dividing it onto two plates, leaving a couple of noodles on the unicorn spoon rest to cool. Motioning to the table, she looks at Lexa. “Choose a seat, if you please,” she says with mock formality and a grin.  
Lexa pulls out a seat that faces the rest of the apartment, and Skye interrupts her, slapping her hands away and holding the chair. Lexa blushes lightly but takes the seat with a quiet thank you. 

Resting one of the plates of noodles down in front of Lexa, she says, “I hope you like spaghetti. Oh shit, you’re not allergic to tomatoes or anything, are you?”  
“Skye, I’m a Marine. We aren’t allowed to have allergies,” Lexa deadpans, her face extremely serious but there’s a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Oh, so you weren’t issued them at Basic?” 

“I was waved through because of my huge birth control glasses. They didn’t want me to look quite that pathetic.”

Skye laughs, shaking her head. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever look pathetic.” 

“You haven’t seen me in my BCGs.” 

“Maybe I’d like to,” Skye says with a smirk, licking her lips as her smile grew at Lexa’s flustered expression. “Homemade marinara, my grandma’s recipe,” she says, carefully placing the saucepan down on a trivet in the middle of the table. She follows it with a large bowl of salad and a cute little basket of garlic bread.  
“It looks fantastic. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” she says self deprecatingly. 

Skye reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Lexa’s ear. “Some people are worth the effort.” The smile lingers as she takes her own seat. 

Lexa’s smile broadens, and she takes the pretty, cloth napkin and lays it in her lap. “I appreciate it. I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a while - not one that’s really home cooked, anyway. I’m great at making things out of boxes, jars, and cans. And by ‘making,’ I pretty much mean ‘eating directly out of’ in most cases.” 

Skye shakes her head and laughs. “I’m sure Grandma would be happy to know I’m using the recipe on someone who deserves it.” She holds the bowl of salad out for Lexa to serve some to herself then adds some to her own salad bowl as well. After placing the large bowl back on the table, she offers Lexa the basket of bread. 

“Do you do this for all your second dates?” Lexa half teases. 

“Third date. But no, not even close. I don’t cook for very many people. It’s kind of a personal thing, I guess. My Grandma taught me how to cook. Mom was too busy being a hot shot surgeon to do anything so mundane. There were times that I felt like the only way I could truly get her attention was if I needed her to cut me open.” 

Lexa reaches over and rests her left hand on Skye’s right, gently stroking her thumb across the soft skin there. 

Skye smiles and turns her hand over to squeeze Lexa’s. “It’s okay. We’re closer now. It was just hard when I was young. I get it now. Hopefully I’m getting a bit wiser and not just collecting gray hairs.” 

“Oh please, as if you have any gray hairs.” 

“Believe me, I do. Why do you think I color it fun colors? My dad was completely white haired, not even gray, actually fully white, by the time he was thirty. I’m honestly a little surprised I don’t have more than I currently do.” 

“I have a feeling you’d look incredible with gray hair.” 

“You’re just trying to get on my good side. Buttering me up for the third date action.” 

Lexa nearly squeaks as she inhales the sip of wine she has in her mouth. “I… Third… No! Anyway, this is only our second date,” she sputters, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. 

“Totally our third,” Skye counters. 

“Is it a date if one party doesn’t realize it’s a date?” 

“Absolutely. Just because you’re an adorable little spaz who doesn’t realize it’s a date when someone invites you and pays for your food doesn’t mean it’s not actually a date.” 

“That can be a friend thing!” 

“Do all of your friends look at you like they want to kiss you senseless?” 

Lexa has her fork loaded with lettuce, tomato, and a crouton halfway to her mouth where it simply hangs, waiting to be eaten. “Did you look at me like you wanted to kiss me senseless?” 

“I would think so, since I absolutely did.” 

“I… did not pick up on that.” 

“Like I said, adorable spaz,” Skye says triumphantly, shoving a forkful of lettuce in her mouth. 

So she wouldn’t have to reply, Lexa completed the path the fork was on, delivering the fresh and delicious salad to her mouth. 

The remainder of dinner went by with an excellent mix of teasing, comfortable chit chat, and get to know you conversation.  
“This was outstanding, Skye, truly. Thank you for sharing something so special to you with me.” 

It is Skye’s turn to have her cheeks redden (pinken?). “It’s my pleasure,” she says, pulling Lexa’s knuckles to her lips and letting them linger there. “It’s not over yet, though. I hope you saved room for dessert.” 

Shaking her head pitifully, Lexa rubs her belly and leans back. “Maybe we could have dessert after a bit? Unless you’re already ready to get rid of me, that is.”  
Skye stands up and starts to gather the dishes. “Not even a little bit. Let me get this stuff cleared and we can check out what’s on Netflix.”  
“Only if you let me help you,” Lexa counters and helps carry everything to the kitchen. “Do you have any rubber gloves? Or really, just the one,” she asks, holding up her right hand. The prosthetic held up well to a bit of moisture such as rain, but total submersion is something that is guaranteed to ruin it.  
“Lucky for you, my mom basically treats her hands as if she’s a hand model, not a surgeon, so I’ve learned to keep a few pair around.” Skye opens the cabinet door beneath the sink and pulls out a purple polka dotted pair and a more utilitarian rubber duck yellow pair. “Guest’s pick.” 

Lexa thinks for a moment before taking one purple glove and one yellow glove. She pulls the yellow one over her prosthetic and the purple one over her left hand. “That way we can share,” she explains with a sweet smile. 

“Always the gentlewoman,” Skye says, leaning up to place a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of Lexa’s lips. “I do have a dishwasher, though, so we don’t have to do them all by hand,” she points out, tapping the appliance with the toe of her shoe. 

“I don’t mind. Do you put your pots and pans in there?” 

“Lexa, I’d honestly much rather spend time with you on the couch than doing dishes by hand,” Skye says plainly, beginning to understand that Lexa doesn’t always pick up on the little hints she’s being given. 

“Oh, um, we can do that. That sounds better,” she says shyly as she rinses a wine glass and carefully places it in the top rack of the dishwasher.  
“I’ve broken your code, Amundsen. I might just be able to get you to do anything I want.” 

“You didn’t need to break my code to do that.” 

Skye smiles so widely that it nearly takes over her entire face. “So you can be smooth,” she teases. She places her gloved hand on Lexa’s waist and tugs Lexa forward until their bodies are almost touching. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” she breathes, looking into green eyes before closing the distance between their lips. 

Lexa gasps softly, still surprised when Skye is so forward, or - more accurately - she’s surprised that Skye wants to be so forward. Realizing she’s stiff and unresponsive, she consciously relaxes and parts her lips slightly to fit Skye’s bottom lip between hers. The kiss is sweet and only a nanometer past chaste, but it makes Lexa’s heart skip then race. “I think it’s you who is full of surprises,” she breathes, tipping her head forward to gently press her forehead against Skye’s. 

“Maybe you’re just now learning to see. I’m pretty much out in the open.” 

“Maybe,” Lexa capitulates (concedes?). “I’m glad you see me.” 

“Lex,” Skye says softly, placing her gloved hand on Lexa’s cheek, “you’re the most radiant being I’ve seen. You just have ash in your eyes when you look in the mirror.” 

Lexa blushes deeply at the compliment and shakes her head. “Are you sure you’re not a poet?”

Skye grins, one side of her mouth curling up. “I do dabble in songwriting, but trust me, my tattoos are much better than my lyrics.”

“See, surprises.” 

Laughing, Skye shrugs. “I guess you’ve got me there. Come on, let’s get this dishwasher loaded so we can Netflix and chill.” At Lexa’s tensing, Skye winks ad quickly adds, “In the literal sense. Don’t freak out on me yet.” 

Lexa is both relieved and embarrassed at her reaction. She likes Skye; Skye likes her. It used to be that simple. But now… 

“Load, woman!” 

Skye’s demand shocks Lexa out of her reverie (out of her head?) and she nearly jumps. “Are you sure you weren’t ever enlisted? You do a great drill instructor impression,” she half teases but does as she’s told. 

Skye just laughs and bumps Lexa’s hip with hers - well, technically she bumps Lexa’s thigh with her hip. Lexa’s legs are miles long. 

While Lexa finishes loading the dishwasher, Skye cleans off the stove and counter tops. The two noodles that were set aside on the unicorn spoon rest are offered to DOG, who excitedly swallows it without even chewing, and CAT, who bats at it and sniffs it for a moment before haughtily turning her back. DOG is all too happy to take CAT’s portion, as well. 

It isn’t long before the dishwasher is humming and clanging softly, the rubber gloves are draped to dry, and the pair are on the couch. DOG and CAT are nearby; DOG beneath Skye’s feet, CAT prowling around the arm and back of the couch. 

“Do you feel like watching anything in particular?” 

“I’m easy. I haven’t really watched much TV for a while, and I’ve only seen a dozen or so movies that happened to be shown on rec nights. So, they were almost as old as me.” 

Skye chuckles in understanding. There wasn’t a lot of down time for Marines. “How about a genre, then?” 

“My normal go to is action, but I’m feeling a little bit like comedy tonight. You should know, though, that I’m extremely picky about my comedy. I rarely watch it because I can’t stand stupid humor. It needs to be witty or smart. And not offensive. To anyone.” Lexa lays out her list of requirements. She doubts Skye will be able to find something within those perimeters, but if she can, all the better. 

“There’s this one show that I keep hearing is good. It’s about this woman who was kidnapped and kept in a bunker for, I think, years.” 

Lexa arches her eyebrow at Skye. “That doesn’t sound like a comedy.” 

“That’s what I kept saying, but everyone says it’s really good. Want to give it a shot? If we don’t like it, we can probably find something else among the thousands of shows on here.” 

“Okay. But at the first misogynistic joke, it’s going off.” 

“Deal,” Skye agrees, flipping through the Netflix menu until she finds the show. She leans back on the couch, scooting a bit closer to Lexa. “I don’t bite,” she teases gently. 

Lexa, who finds herself crammed into the corner of the couch, right hand resting along the arm of the couch. Even though the myoelectric prosthetic is as light as it can reasonably be, at least at the current level of technology, it still feels heavy and foreign sometimes. “Sorry,” she mumbles, moving out from the corner to sit more naturally. 

“No need to apologize. I just want you to be comfortable here. If you would rather, one of us can sit in the recliner.” 

Lexa shakes her head emphatically. “I don’t think I want that. I just…” She trails off, not sure how to explain. “I haven’t really dated since Cass- since my ex broke up with me a little over a year ago. I don’t really know how to do this anymore,” she admits with a sigh. 

Skye turns to face Lexa, her knee bent and her foot resting across the couch cushion between them. “Do you mean because of your injury?” She reaches across Lexa and slips her hand beneath Lexa’s, paying close attention to Lexa’s expression to ensure it’s all right. When she doesn’t see any negative expressions, she pulls Lexa’s hand into Lexa’s lap with her hands enveloping Lexa’s. “I don’t care about this. I don’t even think about this when I think of you. I never think, ‘I have a date with a woman who has a prosthetic.’ I think more along the lines of, ‘I have a date with an incredibly beautiful woman who I can make blush and who says some of the sweetest things. Sometimes those things even catch her by surprise.’ I don’t care about this. I don’t even think about it except when I have to, which is when you’re my client - no other time.” She pauses for a moment. “Is that a problem? I don’t want you to think that I don’t think about it because it’s a bad thing. I’m probably not explaining it right.” 

Sighing, Lexa replies. “It’s not a bad thing. I’m not sure how to express it, either. But you didn’t know me before. You will never get to know the person I used to be.”

“You’re right,” Skye says plainly. “I won’t ever know that woman. I only know you as you are now; all of you exactly the way you are. Your prosthesis is just a part of you. I’ve never known you any other way, and I’m still here. There’s no other place I’d rather be right now than on my third date with the hottest, most bad ass woman I’ve ever known.” 

“Second,” Lexa counters, a smile tugging at her lips. 

“The Marine Corps didn’t teach you how to count very well, Amundsen.” 

“Suck it, Hamilton.” 

“You wish.” 

Lexa can feel her ears start to flame and wonders if it’s possible for only her head to catch fire. “Maybe you wish.” 

“Hey, I never denied it,” Skye boasts. Her expression turns soft as she lifts Lexa’s right hand to kiss the robotic knuckles. “But I’m also in no rush. I like being around you, Lexa. I like learning new things about you and hanging out with you. This can be our second date if it makes you feel better, but I can assure you, the three date rule holds no sway over me.” 

“I’m not sure I’ve ever made it to the third date, historically,” Lexa mumbles loud enough for Skye to understand. She is - or at least was - far from a prude. It makes her feel that much more broken. 

“I’ve never put too much weight in stuff like that. When it feels right, it feels right. If both people are on the same page, why does it matter if it’s the third or tenth or even before any date at all?” She looks at Lexa and squeezes Lexa’s hand. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Lexa curls her lips in over her teeth, pressing her teeth together to hold her full lips in place. “I think I just want to see if this show is any good. Is that okay?”  
“Of course it is. I want you to be comfortable here, remember?” 

Smiling, Lexa curls her fingers and pulls Skye toward her slightly then leaning in to place a slow, sensual kiss on Skye’s lips. Her tongue reaches out gently and glides over Skye’s bottom lip, drawing a gasp from Skye. The reaction is encouraging, so Lexa rests her left hand on Skye’s knee to steady her. 

With her eyes still closed even after the kiss is broken, a smile completely lights up Skye’s face. “Or we can just do that,” she says with a slightly drunken chuckle. 

Lexa returns to her previous position and dips her chin once in a quick nod. “I’ll keep that in mind. Start the show.” 

After three episodes, both women have painted on smiles and have migrated toward each other so that there’s only a bit of space between them. Skye’s hand is on her own thigh, but her pinky finger is stretched toward Lexa, barely rubbing a tiny trail up and down against Lexa’s thigh. 

Lexa can’t remember what has been happening in the show for the past fifteen minutes. Steeling herself against her own imagined rejection, she brushes her palm down her jeans and slips her hand beneath Skye’s. Once there, she flips her hand over and carefully threads her fingers between Skye’s. When she feels Skye’s tighten in a gentle squeeze, she releases a relieved sigh and leans toward Skye so that their shoulders are touching. It seems that all their height difference is eaten up by Lexa’s long legs, so they are eye to eye in their current position. She looks over, surprised to see Skye looking at her instead of at the television screen. 

“I was waiting for that,” she says gently, brushing the pad of her thumb along the soft skin between Skye’s thumb and index finger. 

“You could have done it.” 

“I know, but I wanted to wait for you.”

“What else are you waiting on me for?” 

Skye grins and turns so that their bodies are slightly pressing together. “I think you know what else I’m waiting for,” she said, her tongue swiping back and forth across her lips as her eyes dart down to Lexa’s and back up again. 

Lexa is reasonably sure she won’t even be able to remember the name of the show they are watching when she looks back on this memory. Deciding that is most definitely the least interesting thing going on - though the show itself is very good - she lifts her right hand to grip Skye’s upper arm as she leans in for a kiss, trusting her prosthetic not to squeeze Skye too tightly. The tension that has been building between them for the previous hour and a half snaps like an overstretched conveyor belt, sending sparks to shower around them. 

Skye moans softly, desperately swallowing it down to not seem so eager. When Lexa’s tongue swipes across her lips and presses tenderly between them, Skye dismisses her nervousness and self imposed restriction. She moves closer, pressing her knee into the cushion beside Lexa’s hips as she moves then swings the other so that her thighs are bracketing Lexa’s. Looking down, Skye pulls away from Lexa’s needy lips only to flip her hair to the other side then crash back into them a split second later. From her new position, she has control and buries her hands in Lexa’s loose curls. Her hips lower so that she’s sitting on Lexa’s knees, and her back arches to press her front against Lexa’s. 

“Oh fuck,” Lexa gasps, her left hand on Skye’s waist and her right hanging on tightly to the arm of the couch. 

“Don’t do that,” Skye says gently, freeing her left hand to lift Lexa’s right hand from the couch. Instead, she places it on the other side of her waist. “I want you to touch me, all of you,” she explains. 

Lexa surges up to claim Skye’s lips again, openly exploring Skye’s soft, kiss bruised lips. Her skin is hot even where it’s exposed and feels like it might bubble under their heat where Skye touches her. Her heart is hammering against her ribs as adrenaline pours into her veins. She flexes her arms to pull Skye closer, arching her back to press against Skye. The sounds Skye makes are driving her insane, the little whimpers and sighs. But then it turns more urgent and Skye is wrenching away from Lexa’s right hand but not moving completely away. 

“Shit, are you okay?” Lexa asks, pulling her hand completely away as if she was burning Skye. “I’m so sorry. I can’t feel how much I’m squeezing, and I got really excited, and-”

“Lexa.” 

“I knew I’d hurt you. You’re right, I’m-” 

“Lexa.” 

“-such a spaz, but not in a good-” 

“Lexa!” 

Lexa stops rambling, her mouth half open already formed for the next word. “What?”

“I’m fine, beautiful. You just squeezed a little bit hard. No harm done,” Skye promises. She looks into Lexa’s eyes for a few moments until she’s certain that Lexa isn’t going to freak out. Then, she leans in and kisses Lexa softly. “Are you okay?” 

Lexa licks her lips, her eyes still nervous. “I can’t tell how hard I’m squeezing when I can’t see what I’m doing,” she says softly. “That’s why I didn’t want to touch you with it.” 

“You’re not touching me with an it, Lexa, you’re touching me with your hand. If you don’t want to, then I will respect that. But I don’t want you to be afraid of hurting me. I’m not made of glass or paper or moth wings.”

“Moth? Why not butterfly?” 

“Because moths are just as amazing and don’t get the same love.”

The answer catches Lexa off guard, and a gentle bark of laughter bubbles up. She leans up and kisses the tip of Skye’s nose. “Only you would think of something like that.” 

Skye shrugs and smiles. “So, we’re good, right?” 

“We’re good.” 

“You know you can take your prosthesis off around me if you want to. However you’re most comfortable, that’s how I want you to be.” 

“I wouldn’t know what to do without it, either,” Lexa grumbles. 

Skye leans in and kisses Lexa’s forehead. “We could figure it out together. I mean, as much as you want to.”

“Maybe…” 

“Hey, no rush. Get out of your head. Come back to me,” Skye insists, her hand pressing against Lexa’s cheek to keep her from looking down. “Just you and me.” She moves to sit back on the couch beside Lexa, but Lexa holds her in place. 

“I don’t want to stop,” she whispers, both hands gently squeezing Skye’s hips. 

“I’m very okay with that,” Skye replies, brushing the tip of her nose along the length of Lexa’s before dipping to press her lips against Lexa’s. The kiss is less tentative than before, her lips parted to suck gently on Lexa’s full bottom lip until her tongue slips carefully across it. Lexa’s whimper makes her smile into the kiss, and she pushes forward a bit more boldly. Moving her hand from Lexa’s cheek, she cups Lexa’s neck, her fingers teasing the soft baby curls at Lexa’s nape. 

The heartfelt groan that escapes from Lexa’s chest is surprising, but it feels too good to be touched like this - kissed like this - again for the surprise to convert into embarrassment. Her left hand grips carefully at Skye’s hip, pulling Skye’s body closer until they are pressed together. The exquisite feeling of their bodies touching, even through their clothes, is enough to make Lexa light headed. Afraid that her heart might break free from her chest, she gently breaks the kiss, pecking Skye’s lips a couple of times before letting them go completely, at least for the moment. 

“You okay?” Skye asks tenderly, her fingers still playing idly at the back of Lexa’s neck. 

“Yes, definitely yes. I just needed to breathe for a moment. Your kisses are the stuff of legend,” Lexa swoons. 

“Right back at you,” Skye replies, placing a quick kiss to Lexa’s kiss-swollen lips. She waits for Lexa to catch her breath and slides her free hand down Lexa’s right arm to her elbow then rests her palm on the socket of the prosthesis there while her fingertips draw unseen designs on Lexa’s skin. 

Lexa’s first instinct is to pull away, to not make Skye touch the semi-foreign object. However, she is trying to be as open with Skye as Skye has been with her. Instead, she rotates the wrist so she is carefully cupping Skye’s elbow. The intimate touch makes her heart flutter, and her hand on Skye’s hip slides around to the small of Skye’s back, slightly pressing forward. Her eyes flutter shut as she arches her back, her small breasts pressing greedily against Skye’s much fuller chest. 

Skye hisses in pleasure and takes full advantage of Lexa’s arched back. Leaning fully against Lexa, she leans in and peppers quick, soft kisses across Lexa’s lips and jaw, making her way down Lexa’s neck. She spends more time here, the kisses slightly sucking and her tongue tracing over the pink ovals left behind.  
“Holy fuck,” Lexa gasps, her hips jolting up as electricity zaps from her neck to her center. Her hands clench, holding Skye in place as she turns so that Skye is lying on the couch and she is pressed between Skye’s thighs. “You should be careful with that,” she husks, her tone almost a growl. 

“Why is that?” Skye taunts, hooking her foot around the back of Lexa’s leg. 

The movement makes Lexa’s hips surge forward, and she gasps. Her lips crash into Skye’s, and she kisses Skye hungrily. She can feel her body responding in ways she hasn’t felt in far too long. As much as she likes it, and god does she like it, it’s also slightly petrifying. She had hurt Skye when they were just kissing, and she hates to think what might happen if they did much more than that. After a few more nearly mind blowing kisses, Lexa gently pulls away. “I- I need to stop,” she breathes, looking away from Skye’s face to hide her shame. 

“Whew,” Skye replies, blowing air from the corner of her mouth to send the hair hanging down over her forehead fluffing up. “Lexa, baby,” she says, waiting until Lexa looks at her again before continuing. “We can take things as fast or slow as we like. There’s no pressure. You make my nerves explode into fireworks, and I’d rather not completely combust on our third date.” Leaning up, she places a soft, sweet kiss to Lexa’s lips, letting it linger without pushing for anything deeper. 

Even though she is the one who called their activities to a halt, Lexa reluctantly pushes her body up off of Skye’s. She runs a shaky hand through her hair as she closes her eyes to attempt to regain her composure. When she’s relatively certain she’s not going to press Skye back into the couch and make a fool of herself by drying humping Skye like a teenager, she opens her eyes and smiles at Skye, offering her hand to help Skye sit up. “Thank you, for understanding and being patient with me.” 

“We’re in this together, right?” At Lexa’s nod she continues. “Then there’s nothing to thank me for. I don’t want to do anything that we’re not on the same page for, no matter how many pages that ends up being. I like novels. I’m not in a hurry, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Lexa’s heart does a different type of racing at the implications in Skye’s words. She reaches out and gently laces her fingers in Skye’s hair, leaning in for a slow, sweet kiss. “You’re pretty awesome, you know that?” 

“Excuse you, I’m completely awesome,” Skye retorts, nuzzling her nose against Lexa’s cheek. 

“What ever was I thinking?” Lexa capitulates, wrapping her arm around Skye’s shoulders to hold her near. 

“Should we keep watching?” Skye asks after a few moments of comfortable silence. 

Lexa chuckles, her cheeks heating up slightly. “I don’t think I have any idea about what’s going on.” 

Skye laughs more freely, bumping Lexa playfully with her shoulder. “Been somewhat distracted, have you?” 

“Extremely distracted.” 

“Good to know. I don’t remember at least the last episode, either, so we’ll have to back it up.” 

Licking her lips, Lexa shakes her head gently. “I think I should probably go. It’s getting late.” 

“Oh, I see, skipping out so you can go on your other date,” Skye teases but extracts herself from Lexa’s hold. 

“You caught me. So many dates to keep,” Lexa replies flatly. 

“Will any of them make you home made marinara from their grandma’s recipe?

“No. I told them I was allergic to tomatoes,” Lexa deadpans, her expression completely serious. 

Skye shakes her head and laughs heartily. “Good to know I’m you favorite.” 

“No contest, Skye.” Lexa forces herself to sit up on the couch; she’s feeling far too comfortable hovering over Skye. “I should go,” she says again. She’s not really certain if she’s trying to convince herself or Skye. 

“It is getting late. And you have physical therapy in the morning, right?” 

“Every day. I might as well be dating Torres for as often as we see each other. Hell, we might as well be roommates.” 

“Do I need to be jealous? Because I’m really bad at being jealous. If I don’t trust the person I’m dating, I just don’t date them,” Skye explains with a shrug.  
“Jealousy is not acceptable. I’m glad you feel that way. I had an ex-girlfriend who was pretty jealous, and it drove me completely nuts. I can’t stand it.” Realizing she didn’t answer Skye’s question, she continues. “But, in any case, there’s no need to be jealous. She’s very attractive, and very flirtatious, but I think a lot of that is to get us to do what she wants with as little complaining as possible.” 

“Maybe I’ll come with you, sometime, if that col with you. I’m interested in what exercises and activities you do. Growing up with a doctor in the house, I learned a lot of random medical stuff just by listening to Mom talk about work, but I’ve never been to physical therapy or anything like that.” 

Lexa blushes. “Umm, maybe. I’ll have to ask her if I can bring someone with me.” Even as she says it, Lexa knows it’s a lie. People bring friends, family, spouses, significant others, even people they’ve served with or their commanding officers. 

If Skye knows Lexa’s not being fully truthful, she doesn’t let on. “No problem. The last thing I’d want to do is get in the way of you or anyone else there just to learn something new.”

Skye’s easy acceptance of her reasoning counter intuitively makes Lexa want to say yes. “It’s a really big place. I don’t think you would be, I just want to clear it with her.” 

“Yeah, I don’t want her to make you drop and give her however many.” 

“Oh, believe me, she does that without any outside prompting. These guns don’t come without a little practice,” she says, holding up her arms to flex. Seconds after she does it, her face, ears, and neck flame red, and she immediately drops her arms. 

Skye grins, licking her lips at the taut muscles Lexa displays. She can’t help but wonder what Lexa’s back and abs look like, especially after feeling them so intimately so recently. “I’m always glad to see your guns. For you, this is totally a full on flex zone.” She lifts her arms and imitates Lexa’s flex, shrugging good-naturedly when her own biceps are not at all impressive. 

“Oh my god, did you really just say flex zone?” Lexa scoffs, finding it impossible to continue being embarrassed when Skye is acting so silly. 

“Only for you, no one else. Not even me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Skye stands from the couch, holding her hands out to pull Lexa up from it as well. “Thank you for coming over. You’re welcome here any time.” 

Lexa lets herself be hauled up, the sensation of being pulled by her prosthetic hand is strange, but oddly satisfying. It doesn’t pop off as it had in so many of her more vivid naked-at-school style nightmares. Logically, she knows it is a very slim possibility that it could be pulled off as long as the socket fit properly, but it’s the first time she has had someone pulling on it as if it were her intact hand. The smile that affixes itself across her face is out of proportion for the simple act that just occurred, but she doesn’t mind. 

“Thank you for having me. It really was delicious. The dinner! I mean dinner was delicious,” Lexa stammers, then backpedals. “Well, kissing you was delicious, too.” 

Skye laughs and pulls Lexa into a hug. “I agree. Now, you probably need to head out before I accidentally-on-purpose trip you and you land on your back on the couch where I’ll be required to give you mouth to mouth.” 

“You’re not very good at threats,” Lexa teases as she strolls toward Skye’s door. 

“You are welcome to stay.” 

“I know. God, yeah, I know, but I shouldn’t. Maybe next time,” she says, honestly leaving the possibility open in her mind. 

“Maybe so,” Skye says, placing her hand on the door knob. “Kiss me goodnight?” 

Lexa doesn’t have to be asked twice; hell, she doesn’t have to be asked at all. Her right hand rests on Skye’s hip and her left cups Skye’s cheek as she leans down and tenderly presses her lips to Skye’s. Letting herself get lost in the kiss, she doesn’t stop until they are both swooning, leaning together to keep from collapsing like a card house. 

“Open the door, or I’m never leaving,” Lexa says against Skye’s lips. 

Skye laughs softly against Lexa’s lips and pulls the door open. She is more than happy to keep Lexa here, but they agreed to take the pace that felt comfortable for both of them. 

Even though it was her idea, Lexa is still disappointed when the door swings open beside them. She kisses Skye again quickly before forcing herself to pull away. “I’ll see you soon,” she promises. 

“Text me to let me know you got home,” Skye says, leaning against the door jamb. 

“I will.” 

“Good night, Lexa.” 

“Good night, Skye.” 

It happened so quickly that she had time to wonder why her weapon was no longer firing before she comprehended that her hand was no longer attached to her arm, though it still tightly held the grip and trigger. Her arm continued to flex as if to pull the trigger a few more times before she instinctively grabbed it with her left hand, blood already forming a small pool on the ground below it. Being a Marine was what saved her life. After only a few seconds of a perfectly normal freak out, her training kicked in and she wrapped her tourniquet around her arm, biting through the sides of her tongue to keep from passing out from shock and pain. Time was a hyperactive snail, too slow and too fast all at once. When the indirect artillery fire stopped, only she and one other from her team were still breathing. Anya’s face was covered in blood, ragged wounds slashing her smooth skin to jagged tears. 

Lexa looked at what remained of her right arm. The scars were still bright pink, but they weren’t as puffy and fragile as they had been. Holding the black Sharpie firmly in her still uncertain left handed grip, she began to draw. The design was abstract and shaky, the lines running into each other in places she hadn’t intended, but even the haphazard sketch made her feel more whole than she had in more than a year. Perhaps part of embracing her new normal would include some way to integrate her residual limb into her every day life in ways other than those necessitated by rehabilitation, doctors’ visits, and damnably frustrating prostheses. 

Once the design was in place, she moved her arm around to see what she could of it. Even though the drawing itself looked like it had been done by a five year old, the sprawling and curling black lines made the stump seem less like a reminder of what was lost and more like something she could count as her own. 

Smoothing her hand over her hair one last time, even though she knew it was hopeless to try to contain the shorter hair that curled in wisps around her hairline, she pushed herself out of the car and made her way to Skye's door. Stretching her neck a bit, she flexed her shoulders, opening and closing the hook on her body powered prosthesis that she had to wear any time she'd be doing anything rugged or dirty. She knew Skye hadn't seen it yet, but hoped it wouldn't be an issue. Deep down, she was pretty sure it wouldn't be or else she would have come up with a different type of activity for their date, but it was still something she was somewhat insecure about. She lifted her hook to tap softly on the door, knowing the metal would make it loud enough, as she shifted from one foot to the other as she waited.

The door opened, and she smiled as Skye stood in front of her wearing jeans that hugged her curves and a flannel shirt that was opened to reveal a fitted tank top. "Hey," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up. "You look great."

"Hey yourself," Skye answered, taking in Lexa's baggy jeans and fitted Semper Fi t-shirt. "So do you. Those jeans are seriously working for you. Do you want to come in?"

Lexa smiled, ducking her head slightly as she felt her cheeks heat up even more. "Thanks, but we should go if we don't want to be late," she said and held her elbow out for Skye to take.

"Maybe later, then," Skye said as she slipped her arm through Lexa's and allowed herself to be led to the car. She grinned and thanked Lexa softly as the door was held open for her before Lexa went around to the driver's side. "So, do I get any clues about where we're going?"

Lexa reached through the steering wheel to start the car and grinned over at Skye. "Well, do you really want to know?"

"Hmmm, good point. Will I enjoy it more if it's a surprise?"

"Probably not. I'll tell you if you want to know."

"I'm terrible at waiting. I hate spoilers for books and TV shows and stuff, but I'm definitely an instant gratification girl."

"Is that so?" Lexa asked with a grin, arching an eyebrow at Skye.

Skye laughed and nodded her head with a sassy grin. "It most certainly is," she said and waggled her eyebrows playfully.

"You're too much, Skye Hamilton."

"And here I thought I was just enough."

Lexa chuckled, feeling her cheeks pink. She'd never met anyone that could make her blush like Skye could with so little effort. "That's yet to be seen," she teased back.

"I'll do my best not to disappoint, then."

"I don't think it's possible."

"You're sweet."

"If you say so. You're probably the only person who would say that."

"You gonna tell me, or are you trying to distract me until we get there?"

"Is it working?" Lexa asked with a grin.

"Not so much."

"We're going to play a game of pick up paint ball."

"Hell yes!"

Lexa released her held breath, taking Skye's sudden outburst as a good thing.

"It's been forever since I've played. I hope we're going to be on the same team so I don't have to embarrass you," Skye said with a wink.

"Oh, that's how it is, is it?"

"It definitely is."

Lexa's smile got even wider. Skye's obvious competitive streak was incredibly attractive, and she was really glad that she'd taken Anya's advice. She still didn't know how good of a shot she was going to be left handed, but the point was to have fun and get to know each other better.

She pulled into the parking lot and pulled the tin of grease out of her pocket. "How do you feel about war paint?" she asked with a grin.

"I feel like this is going to be the best first but officially second date ever," Skye said, taking the tin from Lexa and opening it and starting to apply the black around her eyes, spreading it out to her temples and across her nose, then dipping back beneath her eyes with a sharp line that angled toward her mouth.

Lexa sucked softly on her bottom lip as she watched Skye apply the make up across her face. She hadn't thought that Skye could have gotten more attractive, but she was quickly finding out that Skye always seemed to somehow surprise her. Accepting the small tin back, she went to work on her own face, blacking out around her eyes and spreading it down her cheeks in three thin, jagged streaks. Like Skye, she spread it out past her eyes, angling it up slightly and working it outward until it disappeared into her hairline.

"That's hot," Skye said softly, her husky voice taking a slight edge. "Your eyes are so green with that on," she said as she licked her lips.

Lexa grinned, feeling a bit of her old confidence seeping in. "You, too. I like your design. It really makes your eyes pop even more than usual."

"Sounds like we may not even have to use our rifles; we can just intimidate our competitors into submission with our sexy badassery."

Skye adjusts the strap on her guitar, rolling her shoulders to settle it into the proper position. She’s outside Lexa’s door, working up the courage to knock. Since Lexa failed her weapon qualification, Skye hasn’t been able to get more than monosyllabic replies to any of her text messages; phone conversations, when Lexa actually answers, are just as laconic. She jumps slightly as the door in front of her swings open, and equally stunned Lexa staring at her, a small duffel bag slung over her body. 

“Skye,” Lexa breathes before remembering she’s not really talking to Skye, and her eyes narrow. “What are you doing here?” 

Skye lifts the neck of her guitar slightly, arching one eyebrow. If Lexa doesn’t want to talk, they wont talk. Instead, the fingers of her left hand curl into a chord as her right begins to strum. 

(Song like All of Me by John Legend [rights to lyrics?])  
Lexa’s chest constricts, and she breathes shallowly to try to control the pain. 

Nano 2017

Since her second (third) date with Skye, Lexa has been nearly floating. Everything feels lighter, and it doesn’t go unnoticed in her physical therapy sessions. Cat seems incapable of not mentioning it every time they meet. 

“Get laid yet?” 

Lexa sighs, closing her eyes to roll them, then looks at Cat. “You almost made it the entire time.” 

“I was just lulling you into a sense of security. And you didn’t answer the question.” 

“Oh my god, do you talk to all your clients like this?” 

“Nope, just super hot Marines,” Cat replies with a flirtatious wink. “Fifteen more. Don’t act like a soldier.” 

Glaring hard enough to burn a hole through a bulkhead, Lexa easily pumps out fifteen push ups. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you just for thinking that. I can’t believe you actually said it.”

“Lit a fire under your ass, didn’t it?” 

“I’m going to light a fire under you in a sec.” 

“Quit deflecting. You hooking up with the hottie yet or not? Knowing your reputation, I figured it would have been a first date thing - and the date would have been a formality.” 

The information causes Lexa’s concentration to slip and her right hand grip to falter, and she finds herself hanging by one hand from the pull up bar for a moment before just letting go so her ass hits the mat. “My reputation?” she asks incredulously, not bothering to stand up before asking. 

“Hell yeah. People know who you are, and you’re quite the topic of conversation among some of the guys. Lincoln probably doesn’t help your rep much. He tells anyone who will listen how amazing you are. If he wasn’t so head over heels for his girl, I’d think he was into you.” 

Lexa truly doesn’t know how to take the information. Before her last deployment, she would have puffed up like a peacock. Hell, she did that on the regular. But now… Everything has changed. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies lamely. 

“So, you’re trying to tell me that you couldn’t get any girl you wanted?” Cat presses. 

“Not like this!” Lexa shouts. Her hands are balled in tight fists as she stalks to a hanging heavy bag. She punches it once with her right hand then repeatedly with her left. When it doesn’t help, she rips her prosthetic off and swings her elbow and stump into the heavy bag, alternating with punches and elbows from her left as well, until it starts to hurt more than the self loathing that is bubbling up inside her. 

Cat just waits, refusing to react to Lexa’s explosion. She manages to hold her tongue even when Lexa punches the bag with her prosthetic. It will have to be checked for any damage, but she could tell Lexa didn’t hit the bag full force. She is angry, not out of control. 

Only when her knuckles, elbows, and stump are raw from the heavy duty canvas of the bag does Lexa stop. Sweat causes the baby curls around her forehead to stick down, and she breathes heavily, blowing free a few drops of sweat that fall from her nose and upper lip. 

“You finished?” Cat asks in the same tone she’d use to ask someone if they were done with dinner. There’s no judgment there. 

Angrily swiping her left hand over her face and up over her hair, Lexa shakes her hand out, sending the droplets of sweat scattering over the mats at her feet. She takes several slow, deliberate breaths before looking at Cat to nod a curt jerk of her chin. 

“All right. Let’s have a seat,” she says as she walks over to pick up Lexa’s prosthesis from the mat and heads to her office. 

Cat’s office is more like a decent sized studio apartment than a simple office. There is a desk, of course, but there are also several different styles of chairs and a comfortable looking couch. There’s a television with several different game consoles and a hoard of games and controllers with a few bean bag and gaming style chairs in front of it. In the far corner, there is even a kitchenette and a bathroom with a small shower. Lexa has often wondered how much time Cat actually spends away from this place. 

Lexa follows Cat into the office and slumps down into her favorite hammock style chair, reflexively pushing off of the floor with her toes to swing. Cat places Lexa’s prosthesis on the arm of the couch and continues to the kitchenette. “Decaf, right?” she asks, holding up a coffee mug. 

“Do I look like an airman to you?” Lexa replies flatly. 

“Just making sure,” Cat says with a smile as she turns back to start a pot of ridiculously strong coffee. Once it begins to drip, she goes back to the couch and sits down so she can face Lexa while examining the sensitive myoelectric prosthetic. 

“How badly did I fuck it up?” Lexa asks softly as she stares up at the ceiling. 

“You going to look for yourself?” Cat replies, holding the arm out. 

Lexa turns the chair and takes the prosthesis. She immediately sees a crack in the casing across the back of the hand and winces. Knowing that delaying the inevitable won’t change the outcome, she pulls on her sleeve and socket, praying that the damage is only superficial. She powers it up and goes through all the hand positions one at a time, including the custom settings she has programmed. When each of them proceed without fail, she sighs in relief. 

“You got lucky as fuck, Amundsen.” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Lexa agrees, nodding her head. 

“Now that the hardware checks out, let’s take a look at the softer parts of you.” 

“You’re still not getting in my pants, Torres.” 

“So you are getting laid.” 

“Oh my god, you’re relentless. No, okay? We’re not having sex. We haven’t even really done more than kiss yet. Happy now?”

“Why?” 

Lexa looks at Cat as if she is slow and just holds up her arm. 

Cat lifts her leg up in the air. “What are we doing? Showing off our gear?” 

“I fucking hate you.” 

“You wound me,” Cat says dramatically. “Seriously, though. What’s the hold up, Lexa?”

Lexa kicks her feet against the floor to send her chair swinging. “I don’t know how to do it,” she mumbles. 

“What was that?” 

“I don’t know how to do it. I got excited and squeezed her waist too hard. The last thing I want to do is do that in a more sensitive spot. Fuck, I feel like I’m in high school trying to just figure out where parts even go.” 

“The parts are in the same place; I promise you that. But I get the worry. Why haven’t you said anything about it before?” 

“What was I supposed to do, just walk in and be like, ‘Hey, Torres, teach me how to grab a nipple with this thing!’ or whatever?” 

“I mean, that’s one way to put it. Straight to the point, as it were.” 

“You’re the worst.” 

“You love me.” 

“I am assigned to you,” Lexa grouses, but then relents. “You are pretty awesome, though.” 

Cat smiles and accepts the olive branch. “Seriously, though, that’s something we can work on, Lexa. Both with the prosthesis on and with just your residual limb.” Before Lexa can protest, she holds up her finger. “You may not always want to wear it. But when you do wear it, you have got to wear the glove, and it would really be ideal for you to have a sex-approved barrier as well.”

“A condom.” 

“A condom, dental dam, latex glove, I don’t care. The last thing you want is to try to explain giving your girlfriend a yeast infection because you didn’t wash your hand good enough.” 

“Oh Jesus. I thought you meant for the protection of the glove.” 

“That, too. You don’t want to pay for another one before you absolutely have to, and explaining to your prosthetist that you tore it having some crazy, acrobatic sex is probably not how you want to spend a Thursday afternoon.” 

“That sounds a little bit too detailed for that to be a hypothetical.” 

“You don’t know my life!” Cat yells but then laughs. 

“But, you don’t have an upper extremity prosthesis.” 

“I date, don’t I?” 

“I don’t want to know.” 

“Then quit talking about it.” 

Lexa has the grace to tip her head toward Cat in acquiescence. “You can really help me with that stuff? How can it help when I’m all, you know, flustered?” 

“What, this hot bod isn’t enough to get you geared up? Kidding, just kidding. I can help to a certain degree, but there’s going to be some homework that I can’t exactly help you with. Of course, you could always bring her in for a session if it gets serious enough. Not that I’ll encourage sexy times in front of the grunts, but you can work on things together. Again, that’s only if you’re that serious. I don’t expect you to bring in someone you’re casual about.” 

“I’m not casual about her,” Lexa admits. “She actually asked about coming with me sometime to see what all we do. Her mom is a surgeon, so she’s been around medicine her whole life, I guess. I’m sure it helps in her industry, too.”

“Sounds like she’s not casual about you, either.” 

“I hope not. She did make me her grandma’s spaghetti sauce.”

“And you still haven’t hit that? I’m impressed,” Cat teases. Lexa rolls her eyes and Cat relents. “Seriously, though, let’s see how much damage you did to yourself.” 

Lexa stands up from the hammock chair and joins Cat on the couch. She holds out her left hand first. Now that the adrenaline and frustration has worn off, the tight rawness of the skin over her knuckles is much more apparent. She opens and closes her hand a few times, letting Cat turn it over and back again before Cat pulls it toward her to check out Lexa’s elbow as well. 

“Unsurprisingly, this is fine. Let’s see the other one.” Cat’s much more concerned about what damage Lexa may have done to her residual limb. The scar tissue is still much more sensitive and prone to injury than regular skin in general, but with it being newly tattooed and being trapped beneath the prosthesis whenever it’s being worn, Cat is more worried about it than anything else. She shakes her head when she gets a closer look at Lexa’s residual limb. The places where the skin and scar tissue has been abraded is oozing clear fluid and is an angry red. Without a word, she stands and retrieves the first aide kit from behind her desk. She pops on a pair of latex free gloves and is neither gentle nor rough as she uses several alcohol pads to clean off the abrasions.  
Lexa hisses at the sudden sting of the alcohol and how it makes her entire arm light up as her severed nerves try to make sense of the pain. Regardless, she doesn’t pull away; Cat may be a lot of things, but sadistic isn’t one of them. Her leg does start to bounce rapidly as her muscles flex throughout her entire body, trying instinctively to somehow ease the fire beneath her skin. She forces herself to breathe slowly and deeply even as she squirms. It’s unflattering and undignified, but she can’t seem to stop. 

Cat stands once more and returns the first aide kit to its place behind her desk then retrieves two over-sized mugs of sludge-coffee along with cream, sugar and a couple of spoons, and she places it all on the coffee table in front of the couch. She sits back down with Lexa and prepares her coffee without another word. 

The silence is not uncomfortable, and after a few moments, Lexa leans forward to prepare her coffee, as well. Once it’s palatable, she leans back and waits for the scolding she expects is coming. 

Cat, for her part, simply kicks her feet up on the coffee table, nudging the canister of powdered creamer out of the way with her shoe. She stares peacefully into space and drinks her coffee, seeming completely unbothered. 

Once Lexa drains her mug, she places it on the coffee table and leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “You aren’t going to yell at me?” she asks, slightly turning her head so she can see Cat in her peripheral vision. 

“Would that make you feel better?” Cat counters. 

Lexa shrugs one shoulder and unnecessarily smooths down the edges of the adhesive bandage on her residual limb. She regrets harming Skye’s beautiful tattoo work but can’t deny that the release felt at least a little good. 

“Hate to break it to you, Amundsen, that’s not really my thing.” Cat replies easily. “You’re not a child. Yelling about shit that’s already happened usually doesn’t fix the situation. I’m not a drill instructor for a reason.” 

Lexa lets her head hang down, stretching her neck and back muscles as she listens to Cat’s explanation. “I guess that’s true. I just kind of expected it.”  
“Well, look elsewhere, Sergeant, Miss Torres doesn’t have to yell to get her way.” Cat drains the rest of her mug then scoops up Lexa’s to take them both to the sink to be cleaned.

Lexa helps by carrying over the powdered cream and sugar. “Thanks.” 

“I’m far too awesome too much of the time to know exactly what you’re thanking me for, Amundsen,” Cat sasses. 

“For everything, I guess. For not yelling, for being willing to help me with such weird and specific actions, for the fucking terrible coffee you make.” 

“Hey.” Cat turns and firmly grasps Lexa’s shoulder, shaking her the slightest bit. “It’s not weird. The whole point is to get you back to doing everything you did before your injury and anything new you want to try, too. Honestly, when a client asks about sex, it’s a good sign that they’re on the right track, especially mentally. So, I’m glad that it came up, even in a round about way.” 

“There’s nothing round about with you, Torres.” 

Skye is finishing her early shift at NAME when Kennedy pokes her head into skye’s room. Skye braces herself for the inevitable walk-in; Kennedy rarely leaves her position at the front of the shop otherwise. It’s much easier to text or send an interoffice memo. Before Kennedy can explain her presence, Skye speaks.  
“Is it going to be worth the money?”

“I think you’ll think it’s priceless,” Kennedy replies with a sassy wink before spinning on her heel to return to the front, her dark brown hair fanning dramatically behind her. 

Rolling her eyes with a good natured chuckle, Skye begins to pull her standard equipment back out of the cabinets and drawers they’d just been in to prepare for the unexpected, ‘priceless’ client. 

“Hey.” 

Skye’s body jerks as she’s startled, but she neither makes a sound nor drops the roll of paper towels in her hand. She smiles as she turns, setting the paper towels on the counter. “Hey, yourself,” she says, crossing the small room to greet Lexa by reaching out to softly squeeze Lexa’s forearm. “Are we at hello kisses yet?” 

Lexa doesn’t bother to answer verbally as she leans in to press her lips gently against Skye’s in a chaste but lingering kiss. 

“Mmm, good to know,” Skye says, her eyes still closed. Opening them, she appreciatively takes in Lexa’s well tailored BDUs and the way Lexa seems to stand a bit straighter then even her normally stoic posture. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Everything’s okay with your ink, right?” she asks, already reaching for Lexa’s right arm. 

“It’s fine, Skye. I would tell you, I promise. I was just in the area,” she blatantly lies and is grateful when Skye doesn’t call her on it other than giving her a grin, “and thought I’d see if you have some free time and would be willing to spend it with me on the range.” 

Skye’s smile widens, and she pulls Lexa completely into the room to close the door behind them. “I do have some free time. I need to go home first to tend to the furbabies, but I’d love to spend some time with you.” 

“You do realize I’m going to put you to work, right?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you make it up to me,” Skye teases, putting away the items she’d just taken from their places. “Do you want to come with me, or would you rather go ahead and I can meet you at the range?” 

(they go to a civilian range. Lexa is frustrated, skye is patient and helpful) 

Lexa looks out over the rifle range. It used to be a place she loved to come. She wore an expert marksman badge for a reason. It has been a while since that has been valid, though. She is here to prove she is still a rifleman. After practicing for months with each of her prosthetics, she let Skye help guide her use of her left hand to shoot. Lexa feels like she’s in recruit training again. This test is equally as important as it had been seven years ago. 

Her weapon feels heavy and somewhat unfamiliar in the opposite hold. How can it be a stranger to her when she’s had it with her every step of the way? It is uncomfortable to position her weapon across her body so that she can line up with her dominant eye, but she thinks (hopes) it’s becoming more natural.  
Gunnery Sergeant King approaches Lexa where she stands, ear and eye protection already in place though the toes of her boots remain behind the safety line.  
“You ready for this, Amundsen?” Gunny King asks, standing nearly at attention, her back stalk straight. 

Lexa is certain she’s never seen King slouch, even off duty. “Yes, ma’am,” she answers crisply. The waver that tries to creep into her voice is effectively squashed. 

“You certain?” 

She thought it was effectively squashed. “Yes, Gunny. Five by five.” (MC equivalent) 

“Quit dragging your feet, then, and choose an empty station.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” The order unsticks Lexa’s feet, and she walks behind the line of stations until she chooses one at random, several stations away from anyone else. She sets down the heavy, metal ammunition case with a dull clang, sliding her weapon around from her back to settle it into the standing position. The barrel is pointed down the range but into the dirt. 

“Breathe, Amundsen,” King orders gently - as gently as her typically gruff tone allows - holding her clipboard at an angle in front of her. “You know the drill. Take your time - it is timed, but you won’t need it all if your performance on previous qualifications is any indication. Breathe, sight, aim, shoot. Let’s start with standing.”

Lexa nods once, breathing in through her nose and out through her full, parted lips. She’s wearing her body powered prosthetic as the myoelectric one wouldn’t be practical if she was able to be deployed again. Moving into position, she wiggles her feet slightly to plant her boots more firmly. The pistol grip is held with her hook as she rubs her left palm along her thigh twice to clear any sweat from it. 

“When you’re ready, Sergeant.” 

Raising her rifle, Lexa presses the stock into her shoulder and her cheek into the stock as she lines up her eye with the aperture. She looks through the sight, lining up the front sight post so it is centered. Next, she shifts her focus without moving, aiming carefully at the target. This should be a walk in the park. She flexes her back to squeeze the trigger. 

Her jaw drops as the bullet barely hits the top left corner of the target. 

“Now that you’ve got your nerves out, show me what you can do,” King orders. 

Lexa’s jaw grinds side to side, and she feels the anger bubbling up inside her. She calms herself, breathes, sights, aims, and squeezes. The result is better, but nowhere near perfect. Though she tries to flex only her shoulder blades, the motion inevitably causes her left arm to move and, therefore, pulls her shot. She alters her aim to compensate for the movement, and it helps somewhat. She didn’t have this problem when Skye was with her. 

Closing her eyes, she imagines Skye is with her, gently guiding her and helping her aim. When she reopens them, her following few shots are much more accurate, but she fears the damage has already been done. 

Lexa finishes her standing shots and proceeds to her seated shooting then rapid fire. At last she lays prone, her elbows digging into the sand. She knows this is her most difficult set of shots and tries to relax into the hard, unforgiving ground. 

Each shot hits the large paper of the target, not that that is exactly a difficult accomplishment, but the torn holes through the black form of the target are fewer than the ones in the white background. Clenching her teeth so hard they squeak, she stands, not bothering to brush the sand from her front. 

Gunnery Sergeant King’s face is stoic as always, but the slight tightening at the corners of her lips confirm what Lexa already suspects. 

She has failed.


End file.
